GRAINS OF SAND. 123 



through the pines with mournful cadence and sets the 

 long tufts of moss a-dangling. The wind blows more 

 in Florida than any place I have ever been, but it is 

 usually tempered with sunshine, and, therefore, less 

 disagreeable. 



But list the sound of a human voice breaks my 

 solitude a woman's voice, clear and flute-like. I 

 look around and find that a party of ladies have come 

 out from my boarding house and have brought my 

 lunch, as well as theirs. I need not, therefore, hurry 

 away. I can turn over more chunks, explore more 

 pathways, wend more slowly my footsteps homeward. 



These sands on which I sit and which form the sur- 

 face in these woods, could, if given the power of 

 speech, tell a wonderful story. What was the birth- 

 place of the silicon which forms their grains ? Of what 

 ledge of rock were they first a part ? For untold mil- 

 lions of years, as man counts time, have they existed ! 

 Again and again have they been swept hither and 

 thither by the forces of nature. Winds and waves 

 have been the powers which have wafted them on 

 the steeds which have pulled them along. Were it 

 not for the grass roots which now bind them together 

 and hold them in place, the wind now blowing would 

 send them scurrying before it. To-morrow's breezes 

 might bring them back. Thus the area over which 

 they would travel in a century might be only a small 

 portion of the surface of the earth. 



