THE TREE FOLK 29 



him once in the soft night when he is resting within his 

 star-ht paviHon of purple. 



I thought I knew ''Spudaios/' but he gave me a sur- 

 prise one morning in January when I found his body 

 sheathed in plate glass. I never dreamed that a Pine 

 trunk could have such colors. You do not know your 

 favorite Ash until you have heard his triumphant bass, 

 some windy day in March. He holds the record for 

 depth and vigor in the lower registers of tone. An Apple 

 tree in bloom under a full moon is divinely beautiful. 

 On that night in May wings of angels fill the orchard 

 and charge the air with the odors of paradise. Then go 

 there at noon when the golden bees are singing. 



"A friend is one who knows all about you and likes 

 you just the same," you remember. Has any single tree 

 the right to claim you as a friend upon that basis? Do 

 you know all about him? Alas, nobody does. He is a 

 mystery at best. Go to any open door in the forest, any 

 Gothic arch you see in the bole of an old Tulip or Maple, 

 giving access to his heart, stand there reverently upon 

 his door mat of leaf-dappled moss, and knock gently. 

 You will find, as John Burroughs said, that ''The Infi- 

 nite himself will come to answer." 



But do not be discouraged. The tree will welcome you 

 as a friend, though ignorant, and stupid, and bashful. 

 All the trees ask is a little affectionate attention. 



