COMMUTER'S WIFE 155 



forgiven Aunt Lot for once beating him with her 

 parasol, his only whipping as far as I knew, when 

 he had given her a too affectionate greeting on her 

 return from making state calls. 



Once in my retreat, I closed the door and lay on 

 the old lounge panting; I remained there, saying 

 things for quite a time, and finally recovered enough 

 to take my outlook seat at the dormer window. 



Oh, the soothing whisper of outdoors even when 

 the voice comes from leafless trees having a clearer, 

 more incisive tone than that of dense leafage, and 

 the pines and spruces come forward and keep up a 

 full accompaniment like the lapping of waves that 

 is unheard at an earlier season. 



As I looked out I realized a feature that I had 

 never before noticed. The evergreens, so old that 

 they had lost all Christmas-tree stiffness and taken 

 easy attitudes, had been so planted that as the elms 

 and maples lost their leaves, they seemed to dis- 

 appear into the draperies of these sturdy trees, and 

 be replaced by them. So that on hill, grass slope, 

 or flanking the walk the furry green of white pines 

 or the fretwork of spruce and hemlock barred out 

 winter desolation, while the living green in the form 

 of younger bird-sown seedlings of the old trees 

 crosses the woody pasture until it blends with the 



