OUTDOORS 



executes a masterly curve whose precision is 

 like that of a wheeling line of perfectly 

 trained infantry. A flicker's golden-brown 

 wings beat regularly as he flies over the 

 field, and a blue-jay's call comes queru- 

 lously as we clamber over the fence and enter 

 the forest. 



The first thing that fixes the attention of the 

 intruder is the sense of silence that broods 

 among the squat trunks of the beeches and the 

 taller figures of the other trees. The beech, 

 more than any other tree, seems built on al- 

 most human lines, so smooth is its bark, so 

 graceful are its outlines, and so solid is its 

 general appearance. A little way up from the 

 ground its subsidiary branches spring out, and 

 so thickly that the growth is as close as that 

 of a bush. Everywhere the limbs shoot out, 

 heavily covered with lesser twigs, and all of 

 these are thronged with compact, dark-green 

 leaves, small and pointed. Birds seldom seek 

 the beech-tree, and rarely animals. So dense 

 is the foliage when the branches start from 

 the body of the tree that it is almost impos- 

 sible to make any progress toward the top of 

 the tree or in any direction from the trunk. 

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