where the gentle bh'ds may dwell in 

 quiet, far from enemies In the 

 winter season, however, nothing can 

 be less propitiating The thorn -spines 

 jag out in clusters on every angry bole 

 and branch. 



But as I have said, next to the 

 locust is the shell-bark hickory Sum- 

 mer or winter it curls up its lips like a 

 bull-cur. As a child I used to be 

 insulted by them, though like crusty 

 people I have known, they would snarl 

 at you and make you merry at the 

 same minute; for when fall frosts whiten 

 the house-tops a little, I was wont to 

 go to the woods of the Marais Des 

 Cygnes and find a hail of hickory nuts 

 slanting to earth; and I would make 

 merry beneath the branches, getting 

 oftentimes a sound rap on the head 

 by a friendly nut on its way to the 

 autumn leaves lying thick upon the 

 ground. But surly the shell-bark 

 hickory is. Great flakes of its bark 

 curling inevitably from the trunk, as 

 you have seen old shingles curl from 

 an ancient roof, dyed black as darkness 

 in long years of rain and drench of 

 summer sun. Surly the shell-barks are, 

 but beautiful. I have loved to love 

 them more than I will here set down, 

 lest some who read should think me 

 foolish; I pass no one of them in my 

 wanderings without stopping to watch 

 its ill-fit of garments and truculence of 

 demeanor. A baby shell-bark is 







