OLD MURRAY BAY 



tember, for sparkling days, the dying trans- 

 figurations of maple, mountain-ash, Indian 

 pear, wild cherry; May, for all the little 

 hints and promises in garden and wood; 

 October, for the new-minted gold of bir- 

 ches and the blueberry's tongues of flame — 

 lending a fresh aspect to every hillside and 

 even to the remote South Shore; July, the 

 fisherman's month, for wild roses, high- 

 tide of the roadside flowers — flowing till 

 August, ebbing till October (the tall fire- 

 weed, flaming up a whole mountain-side 

 to gray granite and the piercing blue above, 

 stirs the heart like the sound of a trumpet, 

 and shall the lips be dumb?) ; August, the 

 last, treacherous in temper, feverish of pace, 

 dusty, thronged. 



Not to see the coming and departure of 

 the summer is to lose the best of both place 

 and people. A grasping, unamiable side 

 may be thrust forward in the brief season 

 of their harvesting, when bargains must 

 perforce be driven as to services and sup- 

 plies. Early and late the native kindliness 

 and civility have better chance to assert 

 themselves; the higgling spirit does not 

 shoulder these aside. They will tell you 

 that the advent of les etrangers has not bet- 

 tered their condition, has otherwise worked 

 61 



