AN OLD APPLE TREE 15 



hospitable, and, if animals talk with one another, 

 just as full of neighborhood news as was grand- 

 father's roof-tree. 



Of course you would never suspect it, passing by. 

 But then, no lover of wild things passes by never 

 without first stopping, and especially before an old 

 tree all full of holes. Whenever you see a hole in a 

 tree, in a sand-bank, in a hillside, under a rail-pile 

 anywhere out of doors, stop ! 



Stop here beside this decrepit apple tree. No, you 

 will find no sign swinging from the front, no door- 

 plate, no letter-box bearing the name of the family 

 residing here. The birds and beasts do not adver- 

 tise their houses so. They would hide their houses, 

 they would have you pass by ; for most persons are 

 rude in the woods and fields, breaking into the 

 homes of the wood-folk as they never would dream 

 of doing in the case of their human neighbors. 



There is no need of being rude anywhere, no 

 need of being an unwelcome visitor even to the shy- 

 est and most timid of the little people of the fields. 

 Come over with me they know me in the old apple 

 tree. It is nearly sundown. The evening is near, 

 with night at its heels, for it is an early March day. 



We shall not wait long. The doors will open that 

 we may enter enter into a home of the fields, and, 

 a little way at least, into a life of the fields, for, as 

 I have said, this old tree has a small dweller of some 

 sort the year round. 



