AMONG THE TREES. 



THE WALNUT. 



It was a fine, clear morning in late 

 October, when Mabel started for the old 

 walnut tree on the sunny hillside. There 

 had been a heavy frost, and the white 

 earth glimmered and glistened in the 

 early morning sunlight. The stubble and 

 the dead grass were hung with the fairy 

 lanterns of the Frost King, which 

 glowed for a time, flickered faintly, and 

 went out. The trees still retained a por- 

 tion of their foliage, adding, a touch of 

 color to the somber hues of the pines ; 

 here and there could be seen the bare, 

 naked limbs of a tree, held aloft, as if 

 imploring mercy. 



"The nuts will fall readily today," 

 thought Mabel, as she trudged light- 

 heartedly along. "How good it is to be 

 alive such a morning as this ! The air 

 is so fresh and crisp," she continued, as 

 she felt the color mounting to her 

 cheeks, and her very finger-tips aglow 

 with the exhilarating exercise. "We've 

 had two heavy frosts, and the nuts will 

 just come tumbling down. I'll gather 

 a nice lot and have ready by the time 

 father and old Fan come along. How 

 good they'll be in the winter when we're 

 all gathered around the fire ! There's 

 always a taste of the woodland in them ! 

 Mother's wine, too, made from the juice 

 of the wild grapes, always retains a taste 

 of the wild freedom of the woods and 

 streams. There's the old tree, stripped 

 of leaves, but bearing nuts as large and 

 yellow as lemons! I wish they'd fall, 

 but neevr mind, there's a goodly num- 

 ber on the ground." 



She busied herself for a time, and 

 soon a large pile lay at the foot of the 

 walnut, then she paused to look down 

 the valley. How pleasant the sun felt as 

 it caressed her cheek. What music it 

 was to hear tlic leaves rustling beneath 

 her feet! 



"What a deep blue the sky is, and 

 how pretty the clouds are ! 



The clouds are at play in the azure space, 

 And their shadows play on the bright 

 green vale, 



And here they stretch to the frolic chase, 

 And there they roll on the easy gale. 



There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, 



There's a twitter of winds in that beechen tree, 



There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on 



the flower, 



And a laugh from the brook that runs to 



the sea." 



"Surely William Cullen Bryant de- 

 served the name of 'Nature's Poet' if 

 any man did," said Mabel, as she seated 

 herself at the foot of the walnut tree, 

 and rested her head against its trunk. 

 "I love the fields and woods too, but 

 cannot express my thoughts as he did." 



"That gift is not bestowed on all mor- 

 tals." 



"Is that .your voice. Walnut Tree ?" 



"I rather fancy so," seemed to come 

 from the tree, as a perfect shower of 

 nuts fell on both sides. "Now, don't 

 gather those ; I shook them down for the 

 squirrels which come to me every day. 

 You don't need them ; they do." 



"Well, if I leave them alone you must 

 talk to me, Walnut Tree." 



"I'll do that; but I'll not have many 

 days to talk, for I have to go to sleep 

 soon. You know that trees sleep all 

 winter, therefore do no talking. I have 

 finished my year's work ; my babies are 

 all wrapped up snugly in their blankets 

 and tucked away under their scales, 

 safely housed from the minions of the 

 Ice King, who has already sent his mes- 

 senger, Little Jack Frost, out. The hoary 

 old king will pitch and toss our naked 

 arms ; he will sigh dismally, or shriek 

 in anger ; he will pelt us with ice and 

 snow, but we fear him not ; we are ready 

 for him." 



220 



