A SYLVAN EASTER 59 



catkins, he had clothed himself in chenille tas- 

 sels — each a string of tiny brown fans with 

 pointed edges and silver fringes, with rosy 

 clusters between — and hid his pale bark under 

 a mantle of ashes-of-roses. However, the 

 wind, shaking the pollen from the bright sta- 

 mens, cried, ^' 'Pride must have a fall!' " and 

 tore the tassels to tatters; so the poplars put 

 on leaves lined with white flannel, which later 

 turned to a silver lining. 



Their cousin, the cottonwood, bore a tas- 

 seled banner of russet-red ; though the vandal 

 wind waved the bright banner too well, and all 

 too soon Captain Cottonwood mourned his col- 

 ors lying strewn upon the ground. But Mrs. 

 Cottonwood was now stringing her emerald 

 necklaces, and both dressed up in glossy 

 leaves, which rustled in the wind like silken 

 skirts. 



Every morning some tree, adding a new 

 flower to the spring, would ask, *'Has Easter 

 come?" 



They were very busy, whispering and plan- 

 ning and working together, deciding on pretty 



