Oaks in the Cradle 
jection, but now they are enjoying the reward of the 
persevering and are basking in the light of good times 
again. With pretty green faces washed clean and glossy 
by the early rains and most of the kinks brushed out of 
their erstwhile disheveled fronds, they nod gayly at all 
visitors when the sun is not too hot. It is pleasant to see 
them, after a wetting, alert as though they had particular 
instructions to sit up and look pretty. Thoreau has a 
special word of commendation for this commonest of our 
ferns—“the cheerful community of the polypody” he calls 
its clustered fronds in one of his books. 
March 25.—It is as good as a tonic to see the acorns 
now. After a winter spent in luxurious ease they are 
learning what it is to earn their board and lodging. They 
have thrown off their caps, and, with red faces and jack¬ 
ets split up every seam, are intently engaged in putting 
down taproots into the mellow earth, digging away for 
dear life. As a result of this fit of industry the woods 
will by and by be full of tiny oak trees—most of them, 
sad to relate, destined to be eaten up by grubs and fungi 
and such small deer. An oak just out of the cradle is a 
jaunty little fellow, with a fat, juicy stalk and the two 
chunky halves of the acorn, probably still in the shell, 
clinging to it like a lunch in a bag, for it is on the stock of 
starch stored in the meat of the nut that the plantlet sub¬ 
sists until it develops strength enough to make a living for 
itself. 
March 28.—Among the earliest gifts of green to the 
woods is the despised field garlic—a plant which is by no 
means confined to the fields. A tuft of it plucked and 
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