i 4 A WHITE-PAPER GARDEN 



care-free joys of sauntering along the high- 

 ways as nonchalantly as any gypsy, and 

 reddens its cheek against the wind as cheer- 

 fully as any vagabond who ever deserted a 

 humdrum rooftree for the open road. Some- 

 where there must be elderberries, frozen but 

 sweet, and frost grapes, and there must be 

 plenty of dog roses, and some spindle-trees. 

 I like this last, pretty, homespun name almost 

 as well as I like their pretty tricorned fruit- 

 cups. The Indians called it wahoo, a shivery, 

 owl-like sound that goes well with the frosty 

 air. There must be sumachs somewhere in 

 this goodly fellowship of light-o'-hearts, and 

 a spice bush must offer its aromatic twigs to 

 the nibbler who alone is the true out-of-door 

 man; and above all coral -berried dogwoods 

 must find place here, where so many friendless 

 folk are merry and helpful together. 



Those for a background, and against them 

 I would plant in all of the bescorned sisterhood 

 of weeds. All the long summer they were 

 quietly and patiently gathering strength : all 

 the long autumn they were making the most 

 of rain and sunshine and sweet earth foods, 

 and now that the starving time has come to 



