176 WITH EARTH AND SKY 
Day of the year, so it is welcome and at home 
at this blessed day before Christmas. 
Lest Christmas day be here or ever I gather 
any mistletoe, I will to my deed. I rise lingeringly, 
dive into my pocket leisurely, take out my jack- 
knife leisurely, set down one foot before the 
other leisurely, take my coat off leisurely, ditto 
my vest, for I must climb trees in my quest, and 
tree climbing to my certain knowledge is ham- 
pered by clothing. I will retain trousers and 
shoes lest my cuticle be handled harshly. And 
now forward to the ascent. I start toward a 
cotton wood which I see mistletoe monopolizing. 
It has a crusty rind. Yet I am no coward. On. 
It has no branches near the ground, yet I will 
essay at the attempt at climbing. Just when 
precipitant to do this deed a covey of quails 
whirs up from my feet. They set my soul a-flutter 
like a fluttering leaf with their swift rising and 
swifter flight. They rise like a young cyclone 
taking to wings and sky. They disappear swift 
as a thought. They mistake my intent. I am 
no huntsman with death in my advent, but a 
peaceful Christian huntsman hunting Christmas 
mistletoe, under which osculatory auspices I shall 
kiss my wife and daughters, and likely enough 
my son. It will be half-past kissing time and 
time to kiss again ‘when we shall come under 
this particular branch of mistletoe for which I 
now make quest. 
And now, after this sweet intrusion of winged 
