WILDWOOD WAYS 



so merry as when they hear the sweet 

 music of the tinkle of cold-tense snow 

 crystals on the bare twigs. 



In spite of the soft raiment in which the 

 weather garbs itself to-day it is only three 

 days ago that the great organ of the 

 woods piped to the northerly wind as it 

 breathed pedal notes through the pines 

 and piped shrill in the chestnut twigs. 

 And there was more than organ music. 

 The white and red oaks, still holding fast 

 to their brown leaves, gave forth the rat- 

 tling of a million delicate castanets, and 

 the wind drew like a soft bow across the 

 finer strings of the birches so that all 

 among slender twigs you heard this fine 

 tone of a muted violin singing a little 

 tender song of joy. For the trees were 

 sadly weary of being frozen one day and 

 thawed the next. They thought the real 

 winter was at hand when the cold would 

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