AN OLD APPLE TREE 23 



, ^winter that I do not pause and think of him 



fin there. He is no longer mere toad. He has passed 

 /into the Guardian Spirit of the tree, warring in the 

 .green leaf against worm and grub and slug, and in 

 'the dry leaf hiding himself, a heart of life, within 

 f^the thin ribs, as if to save the old shell of a tree to 

 another summer. 



Often in the dusk, especially the summer dusk, I 

 Chave gone over to sit at his feet and learn some of 

 .the things that my school-teachers and college pro- 

 .fessors did not teach me. 



) Seating myself comfortably at the foot of the tree, 

 wait. The toad comes forth to the edge 

 f his hole above me, settles himself 

 comfortably, and waits. And the 

 esson begins. The quiet of the 

 summer evening steals out 

 th the wood-shadows and 

 softly covers the fields. We 

 ' v - >do not stir. An hour passes. 

 j We do not stir. Not to stir 



f .-is the lesson one of the primary lessons in this 

 C course with the toad. 



""'.'" '; The dusk thickens. The grasshoppers begin to 

 strum; the owl slips out and drifts away; a whip- 

 poor-will drops on the bare knoll near me, clucks and 

 shouts and shouts again, his rapid repetition a thou- 

 ,sand times repeated by the voices that call to one 

 L f another down the long empty aisles of the swamp ; 



s ' . I. 





