In the Christmas Woods. 



big root, and striking upward sent out a joyful 

 shoot to greet the sun. How long it must have 

 taken the rootstock to do this we cannot surmise, 

 but I suppose that, could we watch these under- 

 ground happenings, we should find this sort of 

 thing occurring frequently. We should not, how- 

 ever, be likely to discover the real secret of the plant's 

 growth, its branchlets toward the sun, its roots 

 downward in search of water. We only know 

 that neither root nor flower has any choice but to 

 turn toward that which is its good. The necessity 

 to growth, of obedience to the laws of good, is 

 everywhere the most inexorable of Nature's teach- 

 ings. The plants, guided by instinct, make no 

 mistake in following the good. Higher in the 

 scale, where a measure of reason is added to in- 

 stinct, as in the case of the birds, we find the 

 possibility of error appearing, and mistakes in 

 judgment are not infrequent among these. Only in 

 man, however, do we find the power to retrieve 

 mistakes, consciously and voluntarily to retrace 

 the wrong course and begin anew, and only with 

 man does the perilous power exist to choose 

 between following the good and turning from it. 



The rain has fairly ceased now. The birds 

 have begun to stir among the trees, hopping from 

 branch to branch, shaking themselves and ruffling 

 out their wet feathers. They keep up a sort of 

 indefinite chatter among themselves the while, 

 commenting, it may be, on the probable good that 

 will accrue from the generous Christmas wetting. 



15 



