23« NEW ENGLAND FENCES 



sunned mould of the primeval forest, whereon no 

 man trod but the wild Abenaki, nor any tamed 

 thing; have had in turn for their owners swarthy 

 sagamores, sceptered kings and rude backwoods- 

 men. Would they had life enough left in them 

 to tell their story! 



There is variety enough in the writhed and 

 fantastic forms of the roots, but they are slow to 

 don any covering of moss and lichens over their 

 whity-gray, and so they have a bald, almost 

 skeleton-like appearance. But when creeping 

 plants — the woodbine, the wild grape, and the 

 clematis — grow over the stump fence, it is very 

 beautiful. The woodbine suits it best, and in 

 summer converts it into a wall of dark green, in 

 autumn into one of crimson, and in winter drapes 

 it gracefully with its slender vines. 



This fence has plenty of nooks for berry bushes, 

 milk-weeds, goldenrods, and asters to grow in, 

 which they speedily do and, as a return, help to 

 hide its nakedness. Nor does it lack tenants, for 

 the robin builds on it, and the bluebird makes 

 its nest in its hollow prongs, as the wrens used to, 

 before they so unaccountably deserted us. The 

 chipmunk finds snug cells in the stumps, wood- 

 chucks and skunks burrow beneath it, and it 

 harbors multitudes of field mice. 



In the neighborhood of sawmills, fencing a bit 

 of the road and the sawyer's garden patch, but 



