200 LITERARY PILGRIMAGES 



leaves, nor shall he at first know which dappling 

 of living light has burgeoned from the wood or 

 which flashed in from the sky above, so harmo- 

 nious are the contrasts of rich color. Often it 

 seems to be the leaves that sing, so well does the 

 tiny songster fit upon his perch. All about the 

 lake in beech and birch the young buds lisp and 

 the half-open leaves trill with the tiny music of 

 the parulas. As you pass from ridge to lowland 

 and on to ridge again they lead you along the hill- 

 sides and on to the cool depths of remoter ranges 

 where the ancient hemlocks still grow, their gray 

 beards of usnea moss hanging sedately in the 

 shadows among their dark trunks. The parulas 

 feed and sing in the light of deciduous trees, but 

 they nest in this moss in the shadows of the black 

 growth. Here comes true the fairy tale of the 

 birds that built their nests in beards, for as I rest 

 in the cloistered seclusion of the hemlocks two 

 parulas come and press aside the gray lace 

 draperies of pendent moss and enter in. There is 

 the beginning of the nest, this tiny cavern which 

 they wedge with their bodies from the matted 

 moss. The lower ends of this are to be turned 



