110 WITH EARTH AND SKY 
to lift my voice for the Builder of the mountains 
and the great Great Forester who planted the 
trees and gave them this everlasting poetry. 
We were driving away from a new moon with 
its silver sickle whetted for harvest on the hills, 
the harvest of glorious foliage and falling leaves, 
and the misty mountains smoked across by the 
Indian summer smoke as if all the wigwams 
that ever kindled a wood fire had puffed their 
blue smoke into this October sky. I was to stay 
the night where I was to preach and—intrudes 
the gracious woman who with her gracious 
husband for Jehu drove to this tryst with God. 
“Tf you will go back with us,” said the enchant- 
ress, “we will take you to mountaintop where 
you shall see such an apple orchard as your eyes 
have never rested on.” And the husband’s voice 
swung in with its musical echo of assent and 
urgency. Now, I being an extemporaneous 
speaker, was not caught napping for a reply. 
My voice with the velocity of a flock of quails 
when they first take to wing answered “T will.” 
It sounded swift and eager like a bridegroom’s 
response at the marriage altar.- The night was 
hurrying into gloaming and I cannot be sure 
in that semiobscurity whether my swift acceptance 
took the proponents thereof by surprise, but 
they answered to it with a laughter which seemed 
like the bells of hospitality all ringing at once. 
So the die was cast (alea jacta est, quoth Mr. 
Cesar—Julius, to be exact). I had crossed no 
