UNDER 

 THE MAPLES 



I 



THE FALLING LEAVES 



THE time of the falling of leaves has come again. 

 Once more in our morning walk we tread upon 

 carpets of gold and crimson, of brown and bronze, 

 woven by the winds or the rains out of these deli- 

 cate textures while we slept. 



How beautifully the leaves grow old ! How full of 

 light and color are their last days! There are 

 exceptions, of course. The leaves of most of the 

 fruit-trees fade and wither and fall ingloriously. 

 They bequeath their heritage of color to their fruit. 

 Upon it they lavish the hues which other trees 

 lavish upon their leaves. The pear-tree is often 

 an exception. I have seen pear orchards in Oc- 

 tober painting a hillside in hues of mingled bronze 

 and gold. And well may the pear-tree do this, it 

 is so chary of color upon its fruit. 



But in October what a feast to the eye our woods 

 and groves present! The whole body of the air 

 seems enriched by their calm, slow radiance. They 

 are giving back the light they have been absorbing 

 from the sun all summer. 



