WILDWOOD WAYS 



They linger in groups among the cedar 

 boughs for awhile, but often start up in 

 gentle glee and shake themselves clear, 

 leaving the tree in a sort of blank dis- 

 may until more of their fellows come to 

 take their places. There is a little swish 

 of fairy laughter as they do this, as of 

 the snickering of fat bogles as they play 

 pranks in the white wilderness. 



But it is over on the oak hillside where 

 the red and black oaks still hold resolutely 

 to their dried leaves that the cry of the 

 snow will most astonish you. It is not 

 at all the rustle of these oak leaves in a 

 wind. It is an outcry, an uproar, that 

 drowns any other sound that might be 

 in the wood. It is impossible to distin- 

 guish voices or words. It is as if ten thou- 

 sand of the little people of the wood and 

 field and sky had suddenly come together 

 in great excitement over something and 

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