Down the river there are glimpses
of the fields,--yellow stubble where the grain has been cut, serried
ranks of the green and tan where the far-flung guidons of the
tasselled corn stretch away up the slope like a mighty army to
demolish the cloud-castles of refuge on the far horizon where the
mists fled for safety from the pursuing rays of the sun. Overhead the
oak-leaves are motionless, like the comforting, brooding wings of
Peace. It is a time for rest and quiet joy in the beauty and the
fulness of the year. Now, in the grateful shade of some friendly old
oak, is the time to "loaf and invite my soul."
[Illustration: "GRATEFUL SHADE OF SOME FRIENDLY OLD OAK" (p. 63)]
[Illustration: "FAT FROM A SUMMER'S FEEDING" (p. 63)]
* * * * *
Happy is the man who has made a companion of some fine old tree
standing near his home, type of the tree which he loved in his
boyhood, perchance the very same huge white oak. He learns to go to it
as he would to his friend, to let the old tree share his sorrows and
his joys. Others may be heedless of its charm, ignorant of its power
to help, but for him it always has a welcome and a ministry of beauty.
He learns to visit it often, to talk to it in his thoughts. Some
dreamy summer morning he muses on its history, its service to mankind.
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