Bees and Buckwheat 197 



but it proved to be far different. The thick 

 mat of hardy growths had kept back the snow, 

 which was but a roof and did not wholly ex- 

 clude the light. For some distance I could 

 dimly make out the various growths, and each 

 little cedar stood up as a sentinel. A loud 

 word sounded and resounded as if I had spo- 

 ken in an empty room or shouted in a long 

 tunnel. The coldest day in the year could 

 not inconvenience any creature that took 

 shelter here, and I found later that life, both 

 furred and feathered, knew the old fence far 

 better than I did. 



But this is the last day but one of August, 

 and so nominally the end of summer. Only 

 nominally, for these flowery meadows and 

 sweet-scented fields contradict the almanac. 

 This quiet nook in the Delaware meadows 

 offers no intimation of autumn until October, 

 and late in the month at that. The bees and 

 buckwheat will see to this, or seem to, which 

 is just as much to the purpose. To-day along 

 the old worm-fence are many kingbirds, and, 

 although mute, they are not moping. There 

 is too much inseft life astir for that. With 

 them are orioles and bluebirds, the whole 

 making a loose flock of perhaps a hundred 

 17* 



