AN OLD APPLE TREE 21 



This small tree-toad had a home, had it in a tree, 

 too, in a hickory tree, this toad that dwelt by 

 my house. 



" East, west, 

 Hame s best," 



croaked our tree-toad in a tremulous, plaintive song 

 that wakened memories in the vague twilight of more 

 old, unhappy, far-off things than any other voice I 

 ever knew. 



These two tree-toads could not have been induced 

 to trade houses, the hickory for the apple, because a 

 house to a toad means home, and a home is never in 

 the market. There are many more houses in the land 

 than homes. Most of us are only real-estate dealers. 

 Many of us have never had a home ; and none of 

 us has ever had, perhaps, more than one, or could 

 have that home of our childhood. 



This toad seemed to feel it all. Here in the hickory 

 for four years (more nearly seven, I am sure) he 

 lived, single and alone. He would go down to the 

 meadow when the toads gathered there to lay their 

 eggs; but back he would come, without mate or 

 companion, to his tree. Stronger than love of kind, 

 than love of mate, constant and dominant in his slow 

 cold heart was his instinct for home. 



If I go down to the orchard and bring up from 

 an apple tree some other toad to dwell in the hole 

 of the hickory, I shall fail. He might remain for the 

 day, but not throughout the night, for with the 



