no Next to the Ground 



Along the creek, beeches, maples, ash trees, 

 scaly-barks, and sycamores ran the whole 

 scale of yellows from pale gold to sturdy russet. 

 Rock-maples were blood-red, dogwoods of a 

 dull purplish crimson, flecked and blotched all 

 over with stars of coral-red berries. Black- 

 gums had leaves of clear crimson set off by 

 sprinkles of frosted blue-black fruit. The 

 whole haw family had crumpled their leaves 

 until the stalks showed through, but there was 

 no room for complaint of bareness — the haws 

 were so thick. Only a few of the black haws 

 ripened before frost. The ripe ones had a 

 rich blue bloom, and set off wonderfully the 

 piebald unripe ones round about, where black 

 spots struggled to overcome their pinkish 

 cream. 



Some of the red haws were like fairy apples, 

 as big as the end of the thumb, and set singly 

 at the ends of the twigs. But more of them 

 grew in clusters of two or three or five. They 

 were smaller a good deal than the single ones, 

 but like them a sweetish-sour, and so full 

 of seed they were not worth eating. Still 

 they were worth while — they jewelled the 

 trees so royally, glowing ruby-red in sunshine 

 against the sober tangle of leaves and stems 

 and thorns. But they were not quite so 

 much like jewels, nor anything like so good, 

 as the little red haws which grew in clusters, 



