BEECH WOODS IN MAY 19 



road stood out bare and grim against a luxuriant 

 new growth of wild grape-vines. The contrast 

 was striking. It was as if summer and winter had 

 been brought face to face. The grape-vines were 

 even beginning to blossom, and there were wild 

 geraniums and violets along the border of the 

 woods. But the sumach's buds showed no hint of 

 green. Its lateness surprises me every year. "Little 

 Indian" gorge lay just below me, but how should 

 I get down to it, how pass by these growing things 

 which kept distracting my attention ? 



I followed the road around a corner and came 

 plump against a high-fenced chicken yard. The 

 path was right after all. I went back to it and found 

 that it was possible for me to squeeze in under the 

 lowest wire just where the path itself got through. 

 Under more wild grape it led me, past more cau- 

 tious sumachs and through a grove of young poplars. 

 It was impossible to pass these by without a caress. 

 Their soft gray-green color and downy texture has 

 great fascination for me. "Feels jel-like a kitten's 

 ear!" I murmured, stroking a leaf between my 

 thumb and finger, with a tender recollection of 

 "Uncle Eb." Then a gleam of living sunshine shot 

 past my face and I left the poplars to wonder where 

 the oriole's nest could be. The bird was far away 

 and I saw no more of him. 



The path was still there waiting for me, and we 

 went on together, not stopping again until we 

 reached and crossed a tiny brooklet. Here I must 

 look back and view, from a new standpoint, the way 

 by which we had come. At my feet were two sturdy 



