VII 



THE END BEGINS 



ACH year as we grow 

 older, I think we grow 

 fonder of fall. I like 

 the good old name of 

 fall, — it means so much 

 more to us than au- 

 tumn, and it shows it- 

 self so much our own 

 that we can at least pronounce it as we 

 spell it, which is more than we can say for 

 the longer word. Summer and winter do 

 not show, on the face of them, what they 

 mean, but spring and fall prove that the 

 mind of our ancestors was not without its 

 touch of poetry. The coming of the green 

 leaves and their going again marked for 

 them the striking events of the year. 



And now the hope of spring and the strug- 

 gle of summer have culminated in the frui- 



179 



