WOODLAND PATHS 



nun all winter and spring, and see it sud- 

 denly in bloom from head to foot, as if 

 before your very eyes, coming out all sun- 

 clad in cloth of gold. It is no illusion of 

 the sun's rays or the scintillation of the 

 morning dew, but a rich glow of gold out 

 of the sturdy heart of the plant itself. 



Last October I had thought nothing 

 could make a cedar more beautiful than 

 that rich embroidery of blue beading on 

 cloth of olive, which these Indian children 

 of the pasture world donned for winter 

 wear. Now I know their May robes to be 

 lovelier. No doubt they are days in com- 

 ing out, these tiny blooms of the pasture 

 cedars, yet they always reach the point 

 where I notice them in a flash. One mo- 

 ment they are somber and sedate, the next 

 they are all dipped in sunshine and dimple 

 with a loveliness which is the dearer be- 

 cause it is so unexpected. 

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