XV 
THE FALL OF THE YEAR 
HE fine days of autumn are rich in quiet 
delight. They salve our minds through our 
senses, and we feel the healing power of Nature. 
The suggestion of frost in the air gives a spice to 
exercise and braces the body. From the fallen 
leaves and rustling brittle herbage there rises a 
pleasant smell, sometimes antiseptic, sometimes like 
that of ripe apples. Every day the woods have a 
deeper flush as the leaves slowly wither, and we saw 
a wild cherry tree on the edge of the hill which 
burst into flame when the sunlight struck its red 
leaves—a “‘ burning bush,” and no mistake. The 
children are gathering “brambles,” their brightly- 
colored scarfs and jackets, their red cheeks, their 
stained lips in pleasant tone with the ripe and 
ripening berries and with the withering leaves ase 
resplendent as those of the vine. Some bigger 
boys and girls who had been working all Saturday 
in the potato field were set free at five o’clock, and 
it was a pleasant sight when they came bounding 
over the fence into the road with an alacrity to 
which the prospect of supper doubtless prompted. 
Compared with spring and early summer, autumn 
is, of course, a very quiet time in the country; 
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