A SYLVAN EASTER 67 



And lo, the oak was clothed in fairy velvet 

 vestments of pink and misty green, veiled in 

 a shimmer of silver down and fringed with 

 beaded tassels. Hidden in the axils of leaves 

 were tiny round flowers, which would be 

 acorns when velvet and fringes and silver 

 sheen were only a memory of the pomp and 

 glory of spring. 



*^Are you ready, are you ready?" called the 

 robin. 



*^0h, please wait till I finish my surplice 1" 

 cried the little dogwood, unfolding another 

 large white rosette. 



'' 'Button, button, who's got the button?' " 

 laughed the mottled sycamore, dangling her 

 red and green balls. 



But the bee had paused on her wanderings, 

 well repaid by stolen sips of honey. 



''Alas," exclaimed the horsechestnut, "my 

 candles are not lighted I" 



"And my white garlands are not ready 1" 

 lamented the locust. 



"Nor are my golden chalices!" echoed the 

 tulip-tree. 



