THE VINTAGE OF THE LEAVES . 191 
the infamous “spoils” policy, he was commiser¬ 
ated with for his hard fortune. “Yes,” he said, 
“it is hard, but I knew it was coming, and 
bless your soul, the time is near when I shall 
be turned out of this house too, and told to let 
some other fellow rotate in and get warm. But, 
my friend, there is a house of mine up yonder 
on the hill where politics and money don’t 
count, and when this world seems unkind I 
look up there and say to myself, 6 Pretty soon, 
pretty soon. ’ ” 
While waiting for the mail wagon to come 
down the Ossipee road, over the red bridge and 
up the hill to the store, I plucked individual 
leaves from trees and bushes, and marveled over 
their many ways of changing from pliant green 
to crackling brown. One of the most brilliant 
shrubs near the road was a blueberry. Its 
leaves were crimson, tending towards scarlet, 
and their surface was as brilliant as satin. The 
blackberry, which in some lights seemed as 
bright as the blueberry, was more of a wine 
color, and it had a duller surface. Some of 
the viburnum leaves were rich red on their up¬ 
per faces, but pale below, their mid-vein being 
pink, and a greenish tone pervading their under 
surface. Others, shaped like maple leaves, 
were of a singular color, — a kind of pinkish 
purple. An oak leaf, plucked from a young 
