196 AT THE NORTH OF BE ARC AMP WATER . 
showed as yellowish stripes in the forest. The 
drifted beech leaves gave them tone. In the 
gloom of the matted alders, fuzzy balls of soiled 
wool seemed to have lodged. They were the 
flowers of the white clematis, gone to seed. 
Somewhat similar but thinner masses clung to 
the stalks of the fireweed. 
As the wind swept across a cornfield from 
which all but the stalks with one or two flaxen 
leaves had been stripped, the long leaves 
streamed and flapped before the breeze like 
yacht pennants. In the orchards piles of red 
and of yellow apples shone in the sunlight, and 
when one still depended from the tree it was as 
bright as a gilt ball on a Christmas-tree. 
The oaks still held their leaves stubbornly, 
but the blood had gone from them and their 
color was of tanned leather, deepening in places 
to a dull maroon. The dry stubble fields, 
closely cropped mowings, and rank meadows 
were all aglow with evenly spread color. The 
stubble fields were purplish, the fields pale 
yellow, and the meadows deep straw color. 
Masses of goldenrod stalks were well named, 
for they were golden brown. Their leaves were 
dull brown. If as the train dashed between 
gravel banks I caught a flash of crimson on the 
sand, I knew that blueberry bushes had caught 
root there. 
