BARE HILLS IN MIDWINTER 



in the air for the step that should take 

 them above the ridge. 



The north wind of the ages has stopped 

 them right there where their tops are just 

 far enough above the level of the ridge 

 edge to be safe from it. You see them 

 best by climbing down the little gully 

 among evergreen wood ferns which grow 

 in the rich, moist soil among the rocks, 

 the only touches of green unless you hap- 

 pen upon some polypodys seemingly grow- 

 ing out of the rock itself. 



Right among the chestnuts the sem- 

 blance changes again with the harlequin- 

 like magic of the woods. The big trees 

 are no longer fixed in the attitude of des- 

 perate charge upon a rampart, as you saw 

 them from above. Among them they seem 

 to be tipsy bacchanals who have chosen 

 the little secluded glen for a place of rev- 

 elry, and are reeling about it like clumsy 

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