WOODLAND PATHS 



enter an assembly and sit quietly a mo- 

 ment until one of those already present 

 notices and speaks to you. In this way 

 you are admitted to fellowship. It is 

 very bad taste for the newcomer to speak 

 first. 



So at first I noticed only the brown of 

 last year's grasses, the dead stems of 

 goldenrod and aster, of St. John's-wort 

 and mullein. A tiny cloud slid across the 

 face of the sun and a scout of the north 

 wind blew down the slope and chilled the 

 golden glow of sunlight with which the 

 hollow had seemed filled to the brim. 

 Looking down into it from a sheltered spot 

 on the rim, I had thought the place full 

 of dreams of June. As I sat down in the 

 shadow on the pioneer's grass-plot with 

 the scouting north wind at my back, it was 

 rather a recollection of November. 



A dead leaf, frightened by that scurry- 

 140 



