SNUGGING-DOWN DAYS 



see every twig decorated with new life. 

 It is new life, indeed, but not that of 

 spring leaves. Every tree has a thou- 

 sand cones, and every cone is packed 

 with tiny seeds about a central core of 

 stiff fibre that is like a fine wire. 



Holding the seeds tight in their places 

 are little flat scales, having an outline like 

 that of a conventionalized fleur-de-lis or 

 somewhat like tiny flying birds. The 

 whole is so keyed by the tip that as they 

 hang head down it is possible to dis- 

 lodge only the topmost scales and seeds. 

 A very vigorous shake of the tree sends 

 a cloud of these flying, but when you 

 look at the tree you find that not a thou- 

 sandth part of its store has been dis- 

 pensed. When the midwinter snows lie 

 deep all about, the paymaster wind will 

 requisition these stores as needed for the 

 tiny creatures of the wood and scatter 

 9 



