240 NATURE'S STORY OF THE YEAR 



which pack the interstices until the weight of 

 accumulating water pushes aside the obstacle and ; 

 clears the course. And then, with a roar, down ; 

 rush the pent waters, as though rejoicing in new- 

 found liberty; heedless of aught else. The music j 

 of the stream does not change, though it tells 

 of the passing of a fading leaf, or the corpse of a 

 drowned rodent. 



But though the birds have mostly gone, though 

 the greenery of summer is no more, the woods 

 have still their charm, they are rich in odours not i 

 of summer flowers, but with the aroma of decaying 

 leaves, the rustling swathes under beeches, grey 

 carpets below larches, the scent of dying herbs, 

 and, sweeter than all, the nutty perfume of the 

 woodruff. And this continues though the wind 

 blows colder, the sun shines fainter ; it lasts when 

 the remnants of summer beauty have vanished, on 

 into the long night of winter. 



Each falling leaf is itself a record of summer, 

 and one easy to read. The life of a plant, even 

 the development of each of its members, is full of 

 variety, full of peril. Many are its enemies. 

 Often wounded, it heals itself. Each tiny film in 



