8 MY REAL ESTATE. 



It is now a little less than a fortnight 

 since I paid them a visit. The path runs 

 through the wood for perhaps half a mile ; 

 and, as I sauntered along, I heard every 

 few rods the thump of falling acorns, 

 though there was barely wind enough to 

 sway the tree-tops. " Mother Earth has 

 begun her harvesting in good earnest," I 

 thought. The present is what the squir- 

 rels call a good year. They will laugh and 

 grow fat. Their oak orchards have seldom 

 done better, the chestnut oaks in partic- 

 ular, the handsome, rosy-tipped acorns of 

 which are noticeably abundant. 



This interesting tree, so like the chestnut 

 itself in both bark and leaf, is unfortu- 

 nately not to be found in my own lot; at 

 any rate, I have never discovered it there, 

 although it grows freely only a short dis- 

 tance away. But I have never explored 

 the ground with anything like thorough- 

 ness, and, to tell the truth, am not at all 

 certain that I know just where the bound- 

 aries run. In this respect my real estate is 

 not unlike my intellectual possessions ; con- 

 cerning which I often find it impossible to 

 determine what is actually mine and what 



