54 THE BOY SCOUT 



things, and let me illustrate my meaning by a few 

 notes from my own memory box. 



I always think it is a revelation to wander in a 

 wood during July, and to notice how still and list- 

 less everything is. The bustle and excitement of 

 Spring and early Summer are then over; most 

 birds have safely reared their young in the family 

 nursery, and the fledglings are already growing 

 into big birds. The Cuckoo has ceased to call, and 

 the Nightingale has ceased to sing to us. How 

 very short the Spring always appears to be! It 

 seems but yesterday we were anticipating the first 

 little Chiff Chaff from over the seas, and in two 

 months' time from July nearly all our Summer 

 migrants will have vanished! July, however, is a 

 good time of the year to ramble by some pond or 

 stream, and note the wild life astir there; but 

 before we leave the subject of the woodland I want 

 to tell you something about the Fir tree, for there 

 is a quaint legend told about it, the moral of which 

 we might well take to heart. 



The Fir, it appears, was dissatisfied with its 

 needles, and prayed to the spirit of the woods that 

 it might be as other trees. The prayer was 

 answered, and lo! our Fir was decked in the 

 daintiest and smoothest of leaves. Alas, for its 

 pride! Ere it became accustomed to its new 

 apparel, the beautiful leaves were either eaten by 

 goats or destroyed by insects. 



