106 OLD PLYMOUTH TRAILS 



does the downy woodpecker, often with much 

 noise and obtrusion of vigorous chips. 



Nor need the list stop here. The red squirrel 

 and the gray, the bat, the field mouse and the 

 white-footed mouse all feel this welcoming 

 charm, this endearing hospitality of the wild 

 apple tree, whether born wild or grown wild 

 through neglect, and go to it for protection, for 

 food, for a home, or just because, like man, they 

 love it and feel sweetened and heartened in its 

 presence. 



Soon now the snow of falling petals will whiten 

 the ground beneath all wild apple trees, carrying 

 an inexpressible purity and fragrance to the rich 

 wild earth beneath. Whither these melt it is 

 hard to say. They whiten the ground for a few 

 brief hours and are gone. I can fancy the wee 

 sprites of earth in whatever form they happen 

 to dwell at the moment, beetle or bumblebee, eft 

 or elve, gathering these eagerly by scent and by 

 sight, to store them away below ground for slow 

 transmutations of their own. If wrapped in bed- 

 clothing like this it is no miracle that rough 

 grubs should come forth gauzy winged and beau- 

 tiful insects that flit by and delight the eye of the 

 naturalist. If fed upon these it is no wonder 



