A QUAKER CHRISTMAS. 41 



of his mossy cave, or perched upon a dead twig 

 near by, sings merrily. There are doubtless 

 some who would be stupid enough to declare it 

 the cry of despair ; but there is no trace of 

 trouble in the sound ; no tremulous quaver as 

 though fraught with grief. It is the clear, joy- 

 ous exultation of supreme content, as we hear it 

 in the woods during bright October days. Again, 

 perhaps those gifted with an ear for music would 

 call the tree-toad's song a " squeak." This mat- 

 ters not, for when that tree-toad pipes his single 

 note, I take an outing. My study walls vanish ; 

 the hillside and meadow, the winding creek, roll- 

 ing field, and shady orchard are again, as of old, 

 the playground of my rambing life. 



& Ghnaker Christmas. 



THE winters seemed colder, whether they 

 were or not, when I was a boy ; and some thirty 

 years ago there was one Christmas week when it 

 seemed as if the glacial period had suddenly re- 

 turned. There was snow on the ground, and 

 thick blue-black ice on the creeks and flooded 

 meadows. One had not to take a circuitous route 

 to reach whatever point he wished, and this to 

 the boys of the neighborhood made the outdoor 



