AMONG THE TREES. 



THE MAPLE. 



Mabel stood looking- at the pine- 

 crowned hills, which rose tier above tier 

 like mighty terraces. A great glory had 

 fallen over the woods, for they had 

 donned their autumnal garments, mak- 

 ing terraces of red and bronze. The 

 evergreens looked like great castles with 

 towers and citadels ; the elms and pop- 

 lars were golden steeples, gilded domes 

 and minarets which quivered and glis- 

 tened in the sunlight ; the ashes lent 

 their lavender and purple tints ; the 

 sumacs and red maples flung out their 

 scarlet banners. What glorious robes 

 they wore after all the green riot of 

 summer ! 



Mabel thought of the old Indian 

 legend and, with her mind's eye, she 

 saw the Great Father sitting idly on the 

 mountain-top, smoking his long pipe of 

 peace and blowing the smoke into all 

 the valleys, for Indian Summer was 

 now king and his purple haze lay on 

 the distant hill-tops, filled the valley 

 beneath and bounded the horizon on all 

 sides. Following the bent of her inclin- 

 ations, she wandered off to the woods ; 

 some late clumps of golden-rod nodded 

 their heads at her as she passed, and 

 she thought of the fantastic legend of 

 their creation. She fancied she saw the 

 young prince wandering through the 

 forest where he came suddenly upon a 

 kind-hearted fairy who asked him what 

 wish he would have granted. Long and 

 earnestly the little fellow thought, for he 

 knew that he would some day be king 

 of a mighty people and his chief desire 

 was for their good. She fancied she 

 saw the wistful look on his face as his 

 eyes fell upon the tiny sceptre which 

 hung by his side and then thought of 

 the barren roadways. "Kind Fairy," he 

 said, ''Grant that there may spring up 

 along the roadways and the highways of 

 this kingdom, golden sceptres pointing 

 toward Heaven, that my people may 

 have their thoughts lifted from earth to 

 God." She saw the great transforma- 

 tion that took place as, immediately, the 

 soft, fluffy tufts of golden bloom 



appeared on every side, pointing heav- 

 enward. 



Mabel chose a grassy knoll beneath 

 a maple tree, and sat enjoying the full 

 beauty of the scene. How the mellow 

 haze softened all the rough, rugged out- 

 lines of the landscape, adding but 

 another charm to it ! A robin perched 

 on a near-by ash and looked at her with 

 bright, inquisitive eyes. 



"Oh," said Mabel, "You need not 

 turn -your head and look so wise. I've 

 been reading about you lately, and I 

 know, O Bird of the Cross, that you 

 are not the only bird to whom legendary 

 lore ascribes the honor of trying to 

 relieve our Savior's sufferings in those 

 last dread moments. I've come to hear 

 the Maple talk, Robin." 



"I'm just in the humor for it, fair 

 maiden," said the tree. "Look at my 

 gorgeous robes. We are all arrayed for 

 a party to be given by Professor West 

 Wind sometime between the fifteenth 

 and twenty-fifth of this month. How 

 we enjoy those parties to which all the 

 leaves are invited ! They whirl through 

 the air, they scamper along the ground, 

 they play hide and seek around fallen 

 trees, or in the dusky hollows, they 

 dance and play about until tired, when 

 they settle down to form a carpet for 

 w^andering feet, or a blanket for the 

 tender roots of wild flowers. Our year's 

 work is about finished, and it is well 

 done ; no wonder that we are happy 

 and gay; we have one more task to do 

 — a pleasant one — to form a protection 

 for the delicate spring beauty which 

 fairly covers this grassy knoll at my 

 feet when the warm spring days come. 

 Look at me, how pretty I am in my 

 robes of flaming red ! I am a Red 

 Maple and it was of me the poet thought 

 when he sang : 



And when her leaves, all crimson, 

 Droop silently and fall. 



Like drops of life-blood welling 



From a warrior brave and tall; 



They tell how fast and freely 



Would her children's blood be shed. 



E're the soil of our faith and freedom 

 Should echo a foeman's tread." 



207 



