MY WOODLAND INTIMATES 



on the horizon. What old-world " rose- win- 

 dow " can compare in beauty with that glow ! 

 But there is no mistaking the hour it indicates. 

 Already the glory is fleeting and the damp shad- 

 ows are falling. If we w r ere busily digging like 

 yonder industrious robins, we might possibly com- 

 bat the autumn chill. The little creatures have 

 evidently determined to utilize every scrap of the 

 shortened day. For us, however, no such neces- 

 sity exists, and we would do well to seek the home 

 shelter. With departing day the delusive bright- 

 ness and color vanish, and in the twilight 

 gloom of late September we are brought face^b 

 face with the fact that the life and gladness of 

 summer have departed, and that the brilliant pa- 

 geant for which we have seen the earliest prepara- 

 tions is none other than a funeral in disguise 

 the funeral of the year. 



[42] 



