146 FLORIDA 



the ' old King's road ' to St. Augustine." So the 

 guideboard reads, with commendable particular- 

 ity. " Old " is the word. Even the wind in the 

 tree-tops seems to be whispering stories of things 

 that happened long, long ago. And the trees 

 answer, " Yes, so the fathers have told us." To 

 think of all those busy people ! And every one 

 of them dead ! 



Here is a bit of clearing where the sun strikes 

 in. It feels good. This is the right kind of out- 

 door weather — shade not imcomfortable and 

 the sun's heat welcome. A white-eyed chewink, 

 happy Floridian, is whistling from the brush. 

 Holly trees are common, and the sweet -bay is 

 everywhere. Its shining leaves are of a most 

 salubrious odor, as if they might be for the heal- 

 ing of the nations. I am continually plucking 

 them and rolling them in my fingers. 



And yonder is the maker of the clearing — a 

 colored man, standing beside a woodpile. I hail 

 him to remark that it is a fine day, and he an- 

 swers, " Yes, very nice." Strange that when two 

 men meet for the only time in their lives they 

 should find nothing more important to communi- 

 cate than that it rains, or that the sun is shining. 

 But weather is the thing, after all, especially in 

 Florida. Perhaps it deserves all that is said about 

 it. Anyhow, the woodcutter and the stroller have 



