BARE HILLS IN MIDWINTER 



while it lasted, but they know what to 

 expect the moment it is gone. They 

 studied the weather from Blue Hill sum- 

 mit long before the observatory was 

 thought of. 



All trees love the hill, but few can en- 

 dure its winter rigors. You can see 

 where the hickories and red cedars have 

 swarmed up the steep from all sides, and 

 as you note how the scrub-oaks compact 

 themselves you will see also the cedars 

 holding the rim of rock as did that thin 

 red line of Scottish Highlanders at Inker- 

 mann, all dwarfed and crippled with the 

 struggle till they seem far different trees 

 from the debonair slim and sprightly red 

 cedars of the alluvial plain. You can 

 fairly see them clench their teeth and 

 hang on. 



Yet they love the rocks that they have 

 gripped for some hundreds of years, and 



