GETTING AC^AINTED WITH THE TREES 



were swelling, and here and there a brave 

 robin could be heard telling about it in song 

 to his mate ( I think that settled the season as 

 earliest spring!); but beyond the bud evidences 

 the trees seemed to be silent on the subject. 

 Various herbs showed lusty beginnings, and the 

 skunk-cabbage, of course, had pushed up its 

 tropical richness in defiance of any late frost, 

 pointing the way to its peculiar red -purple 

 flowers, long since fertilized and turning toward 

 maturity. 



The search seemed vain, until a glint of 

 yellow just ahead, too deep to proceed from 

 the spice -bush I was expecting to find, drew 

 me to the very edge of the water, there to 

 see hanging over and reflected in the stream 

 a mass of golden catkins. Looking closely, 

 and touching the little tree, I disengaged a 

 cloud of pollen and a score of courageous 

 bees, evidently much more pleased with the 

 sweet birch than with the near-by skunk- 

 cabbage flowers. Sweet birch it was; the stiff 

 catkins, that had all winter held themselves in 

 readiness, had just burst into bloom with the 

 sun's first warmth, introducing a glint of bright 



i88 



