GROWING OLD 



247 



misdeeds, now that you know how greatly we 

 enjoy the doing of them, and how httle conscious 

 we are of any mischievous intent. 



I must say * good-bye.' I dishke the word so 

 greatly that I feel that I am going to burst — not 

 into tears, but into poetry. I wonder whether 

 you will read it — probably not. I still must write 

 it as a relief to my own feelings ; but in case you 

 would rather be excused, let us plant on the way a 

 large 'full-stop,' to grow into the Tree of Silence. 

 Have you any idea what the Tree of Silence looks 

 like? I think that I can tell you. It is like a 

 great spreading Scotch fir, only the leaves, instead 

 of being pine-needles, are all soft and fluffy like 

 owls' feathers, and from the branches hang great 

 festoons of drooping lichen as soft as down, so that 

 you can hardly see the stem, and the whole tree is 

 full of soft green darkness inside, lying in great 

 pools and hollows. 



When my ghost-year comes to an end, I shall 

 creep very very slowly and quietly up the stem, 

 and hide myself away somewhere snugly among 

 the feathers, and then little Sammy will go to sleep 

 and never be disturbed again. It is a lovely tree, 

 and it all grows out of a little 'full-stop' like 

 this. 



