Chapter 8 A WALK IN THE WOODS.

It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. The sun had marked its shortest shadows. They were now pointing toward the northeast.

The family had returned from the little village church. Dinner was over, and they had all gone into the cool, shady piazza. Mrs. Leonard and Susie had settled themselves cozily in one corner and were reading together. Mr. Leonard was nodding over the pages of his weekly newspaper. Frank, stretched out on the settee, was absorbed in a new book, while not far away Donald lay under the spreading branches of a spruce tree with Barri by his side. Uncle Robert stood gazing at the green woods, which looked so cool and inviting.

"'The groves were God's first temples,'" he said to himself, and then, turning to the others, asked, "Who wants to go for a walk?"

"I do," said Frank, springing up. "Come on, Don. Don-ald!" he called, "we're going for a walk."

"You'd better come with us," said Uncle Robert to Mrs. Leonard.

"I'll get your hat, mother," cried Susie eagerly, running into the house.

"Shall we go to the cornfield?" asked Mr. Leonard, picking up his straw hat.

"I think it would be cooler in the woods," said Mrs. Leonard.

"Oh, yes," said Donald, "let's go up the creek to the pond."

The country was in the full glory of early summer. Just beyond the rich green of the great cornfield could be seen the peaceful river. The yellowing grain on the upland waved gently in the breeze. Under the wide-spreading oak trees in the pasture the cows were lazily chewing their cuds. A feeling of quiet pleasure filled the air.

"I planted all these trees," said Mr. Leonard as they walked under the maples that grew on either side of the road. "It is wonderful how they have grown. They were like little sticks when I set them out."

"The one at the end of the row," said Mrs. Leonard, "was planted the day

Frank was born."

"It is the largest of them all," said Frank.

"That's because it was planted first," said Susie. "I have a tree, too, uncle."

"So have I," said Donald. "It is the spruce in the front yard."

"We call them our birthday trees," said Susie. "Mine is the elm by the corner of the porch."

"That is a very nice custom," said Uncle Robert. "But the trees grow faster than you do."

"They don't have anything to do but grow," said Donald.

When they reached the bridge they paused to look up and down the creek valley. Through the trees they caught glimpses of the shining river and the waving corn. The creek, a little stream, flowed between the two gentle slopes that formed its valley.

"There's a gate under this bridge, uncle," said Donald, "to keep the cows from going down the creek to the cornfield. In the fall, after the corn is cut, we open it, and let them go to the river."

"How pleasant it is in here!" said Uncle Robert as they walked farther into the wood.

"Just see how damp the ground is under these dead leaves!" said Susie as she pushed them back from a little violet that she was trying to pick with a long stem. "Poor little flowers! How do they ever get through all these leaves? It would be so much easier for them if it was just green grass."

[Illustration: The bridge. ]

"But then there wouldn't be any flowers," said Mr. Leonard, "or at least they would be very different."

[Illustration: HICKORY OAK WILLOW BUTTER-NUT MAPLE WALNUT (leaves)]

"It's the leaves that make the soil so rich," said Frank, digging into the ground with a stick. "See how they are mixed all through it!"

"Do you know the names of all these trees?" asked Uncle Robert.

"I do," said Frank. "I can tell every tree in the wood."

"How?" asked Uncle Robert.

"By the leaves is the easiest way," said Frank, "but I know some trees by the bark."

"I can tell them by the leaves," said Donald. "Try me."

So as Uncle Robert pointed to them Donald called them all by name. There were oaks and maples, hickories, walnuts, and butternuts, and close to the creek the overhanging willows.

"Can you tell a tree by its shape when you look at it from a distance?" asked Uncle Robert.

"I can tell the willows and poplars," said Frank, "and maples, too."

"The trees in the pasture have a different shape from those in the woods," said Uncle Robert. "I mean trees of the same kind. How do you explain that?"

"Why, the trees in the pasture have a chance to spread out," said

Donald. "There isn't so much room in here."

"But these trees are taller," said Frank, "and they are straighter, too."

"Can you tell the direction of the winds that blow the strongest and longest by the shape of the trees?" asked Uncle Robert.

"I never thought of that," said Frank.

"The wind doesn't blow in the woods," said Donald.

"When we get out into the pasture we'll notice the trees there," said

Mr. Leonard.

"Isn't this a tiny tree?" said Susie. "I wonder what it is."

"That's an oak," said Frank. "The leaves tell that."

"Oaks grow from acorns," said Donald. "I'm going to dig this up and see if it grows like the seeds in the garden."

"What a long root it has!" said Susie as Donald dug about it. "Don't take it out, Don. Put the dirt back and let it grow to be a tree."

[Illustration: Oak sprout.]

"How long will it be before it gets as big as these trees, uncle?" asked

Frank.

"A great many years. Perhaps your father can tell about how old some of these trees are."

"I have cut some," said Mr. Leonard, "that were about a hundred years old."

"Why, father," exclaimed Susie, "how could you tell?"

"Do you know how the end of a log looks when it is sawed off straight?"

"I do," said Frank. "There are light and dark rings in it."

"Well," was the reply, "one of these rings grows every year."

"So if you count the rings you can tell how old the tree is," said

Donald. "Isn't that great!"

[Illustration: End of a log.]

"What time of the year do the trees grow the most?" asked Uncle Robert.

"In the spring I should think," said Frank. "That's when the sap begins to run."

"What is sap?"

"It must be the water that the trees take up from the ground," said

Frank.

"We've tapped some maple trees for sap," said Donald.

"And we could see it run right out of the tree," said Susie.

"I've told the children how we used to make maple sugar in New England," said Mrs. Leonard. "Do you remember, Robert, what a quantity of sap it took to make just a little sugar?"

"Yes, and I also remember how long I thought it took to boil it down into the wax I was so fond of."

"About thirty gallons of sap can be taken from one tree each year," said

Mr. Leonard.

"But I should think that would hurt the tree," said Frank.

"No," replied Uncle Robert, "for the hole they make is only about an inch across. If they were to cut all around the tree, you see, it would stop the running of the sap and kill the tree."

"That is called girdling," said Mr. Leonard. "They used to clear off hundreds of acres of land in that way when this country was first settled. Instead of cutting down the trees, they girdled them near the ground. In a very short time they died, because they could get no food from the earth. The dead trees lost their strength, and a strong wind would blow them over. Then they were piled up and burned."

"How do you know when a tree is dying?" asked Uncle Robert.

"The leaves turn yellow," said Donald.

"But the leaves turn yellow in the fall," said Frank, "and the trees do not die."

"The leaves of my spruce don't turn yellow in the fall," said Donald.

"They stay green all winter."

"What makes the leaves green?" asked Uncle Robert.

No one answered.

"What is the color of the potato sprouts in the cellar?"

"Yellow," said Susie.

"When you take up a board that has lain on the grass, what is the color of the grass?"

"Yellow," said Donald.

"Why?" asked Uncle Robert.

"Because they don't get any light," said Frank.

"You know why we put our plants in the south window in winter?" said

Mrs. Leonard.

"Oh, yes," said Susie, "because the sun shines in at that window."

"Warmth and water and air help trees and plants to grow," said Uncle Robert, "but without sunlight their leaves would be yellow and their stems and branches weak. The greatest forests on earth are where it is very hot and moist. The sun is a wonderful artist, and every leaf it paints makes the tree stronger."

"But what makes the leaves turn yellow and red just before they fall off?" asked Frank. "Does the sun paint them then?"

"That is a question that no one has been able to answer," replied his uncle.

"But how can the sap flow up the tree?" said Donald. "I should think it would run down."

"It would unless there was something to draw it up," said Uncle Robert.

"I suppose the sun does that, too," said Frank.

"Where does it go after it reaches the leaves?" asked Uncle Robert.

"Why, back again," said Susie.

"No, it doesn't go back-not a drop," laughed Uncle Robert.

"Does it dry up?" asked Donald.

"What do you mean by drying up?"

"It evap-o-rates," said Donald, who liked to use large words.

"Does it all go into the air?" asked Frank.

"I want you to answer these questions yourselves, children. What do you see on the corn leaves in the early morning?"

"Drops of water; but that is dew, isn't it?" asked Frank.

Uncle Robert had a way of stopping or changing the subject when he had asked certain questions. He knew that the children would think of them again and try to answer them.

"Let's sit down on this log," said Susie. "I want to fix my flowers."

As they sat there squirrels ran up the trunks of the trees and laughed at them from the branches.

"That is a good shot," said Frank, pointing to a large fox squirrel. "But he knows we won't kill him, and that's the reason he shows himself."

"Is it right to shoot the pretty squirrels, Uncle Robert?" asked Susie.

"I thought so when I was a boy. I shot a great many of them then. It was fun for me, and I felt very proud when I brought home half a dozen grays.

"Once I went home from the city for a summer's rest. I took my gun for a stroll in the oak woods where I had shot so many squirrels. I put my gun against a tree and lay down upon the leaves. Soon I was fast asleep. I dreamed of a group of merry, laughing children running, scampering, playing."

[Illustration: The squirrel]

"Then my dream became real-not children, but the gray coats, five or six of them, close to me, were running up the trees, jumping from limb to limb, scampering over the ground, chasing each other, laughing as squirrels laugh, and screaming as squirrels scream. I watched the happy playmates, brim full of fun. I have never shot a squirrel since."