OUR CO U N T R Y HOME 



Florentine cypresses, and the latomise of Syracuse; they had wan- 

 dered in the thickly covered hills of the Danube valley, and 

 admired the great timber of the Vosges and the Pyrenees; even 

 the jungles of Ceylon and the cryptomerias of Nikko were not 

 unknown to them. 



But this was different. This was a real American forest, one 

 might almost say a New England forest, with huge towering oaks 

 and wide-girthed maples, tall butternuts and walnuts and hick- 

 ories, leaning lindens and an occasional elm, even the slippery 

 elm, whose pungent odor brought many a thought of childhood's 

 curious tastes. The hawthorn and the ironwood, the white ash, 

 with here and there a birch, the bitternut and wild cherry, the 

 delicate swaying shad-bush, the prickly thorn-apple tree and the 

 hazel brush, the wild gooseberry and puckery choke-cherry, a 

 lovely tangle, led them on; while in the open spaces the black- 

 eyed Susans held merry converse with their swains, the Joe Pye 

 weeds, and overhead birds were swinging and squirrels leaping 

 from branch to branch. 



Beneath their feet the leaf-mould lay, inches deep on the warm 

 moist earth; just beyond, brown shadows fell, where long ago a 

 lofty tree had sunk its full length on the ground, until the seasons' 

 constant change had made a springy, spongy mass where bright - 

 hued mushrooms found a home and mossy tendrils fluttered low. 



While wandering there in sheer delight, feasting their senses 

 on the wild, a sudden turn brought them face to face with a 



