THE BEECH WOODS 



ter's fading blanket. Although the 

 severest cold had passed, the Storm 

 King occasionally raged through the 

 fields and woods, reluctant to loose his 

 icy grip, and piled the drifts behind 

 the fences and the trees in fantastic 

 banks. The whistling wind carried 

 clouds of drifting snow which slid 

 across the undulating fields, poured 

 between the rails of the fence and came 

 to rest in the lee of growing mounds. 



At this time the bright morning sun 

 greeted a world dressed in a robe 

 adorned with dazzling brilliants and 

 sparkling diamonds multitudinous in 

 number. Rising higher, it flooded the 

 woods and loosed myriads of scintillat- 

 ing snow crystals, which streamed 

 downward through the interlacing 

 branches of the trees, like so many 

 transparent silver veils floating in air. 



Now the bark of the beech tree be- 

 comes much lighter than at any other 

 time of the year. There is a beauty 

 about the clean, bright gray, a fresh- 

 ness caused by all the play of rain and 

 frost upon its smooth surface. On the 

 frosty nights of Winter's closing days, 

 94 



