IN OLD MARSHFIELD 9 



crowded, conical heads of bloom also, heads that 

 are of the same sweet pink as the petals of the 

 wild roses which grow near by as you may see if 

 you will hold one up against the other. But the 

 pink of the wild rose seems flat against that of 

 the sumac, for it has only a smooth surface on 

 which to show itself, while that of the sumac is 

 full of soft, shadowy withdrawals and shows a 

 yellow background in the interstices of the blos- 

 som spike. 



Skirting this jungle so aromatic with scent of 

 sassafras and bayberry, perfumed with wild rose 

 and azalea, pulsing with the flight of unseen birds 

 in its cool depth and echoing with their song, the 

 path crosses a brook that gently chuckles to itself 

 over its escape from the monotony of a big mow- 

 ing field to the salt freedom of the marsh, then 

 suddenly breasts the steep northern side of a 

 drumlin. Here the press of toiling feet has been 

 supplemented by the wash of torrential rains till 

 the narrow way becomes a miniature chasm in 

 places, worn down in the gravel among great red 

 cedars, hoary with age and lichens. To know the 

 slow growth of a red cedar and to calculate the 



