IN THE WOODLAND 107 



that other with the black spots on the green 

 leaves. 



Moreover, the floor is inlaid all over with patines 

 of bright silver, relieving the shades by countless 

 stars. No flower, wild or cultivated, has the simple 

 purity of the wood winter green. 



Many of these, and more I could mention, are 

 found all over the sub-alpine region of the hills, 

 which extends upward for the first fifteen hundred 

 feet. 



The wood is a delightfully cool wood ; that is the 

 charm of it. It is worth climbing the ridge and 

 getting heated in the July sun, just to plunge into 

 it. It is like a water bath on a hot day, only 

 infinitely more delicately tempered. It is not the 

 shadow alone. Every wood has a shadow, and yet 

 there are days when they are not cool. It is the 

 moisture that is never absent from the air. Part 

 of the floor is mossy and spongy. In winter one 

 goes over the ankles there, and even in the height 

 of a warm summer one always wets the sole of his 

 boots. 



These grey marshy stretches are relieved by the 

 bright crimson and rose of the two louseworts, 

 and diversified by the flat wan leaves of the butter- 

 wort. There, too, rise the wax-like spikes of the 



