of t 



And everywhere the Christmas spirit, too. As I 

 paused among the pointed cedars of the pasture, 

 looking down into the cripple at the head of the 

 swamp, a clear wild whistle rang in the thicket, fol- 

 lowed by a flash through the alders like a tongue of 

 fire, as a cardinal grosbeak shot down to the tangle 

 of greenbrier and magnolia under the slope. It was a 

 fleck of flaming summer. As warm as summer, too, 

 the stag-horn sumac burned on the crest of the ridge 

 against the group of holly trees, trees as fresh as 

 April, and all aglow with berries. The woods were 

 decorated for the holy day. The gentleness of the 

 soft new snow touched everything ; cheer and good- 

 will lighted the unclouded sky and warmed the thick 

 depths of the evergreens, and blazed in the crimson- 

 berried bushes of the ilex and alder. The Christmas 

 woods were glad. 



Nor was the gladness all show, mere decoration. 

 There was real cheer in abundance, for I was back 

 in the old home woods, back along the Cohansey, 

 back where you can pick persimmons off the trees at 

 Christmas. There are persons who say the Lord might 

 have made a better berry than the strawberry, but He 

 did n't. Perhaps He did n't make the strawberry at 



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