ouse and entered
the long neglected park and garden. I noticed at once a splendid belt
of old ash-trees that shielded the house from the north and northeast
winds. I asked Jane if she knew who planted them, and she said she had
heard that the builder of the house planted the trees. Then I told her I
suspected the builder had been a very wise man, and when she asked why I
answered, Because he could hardly have chosen a better tree. The ash
represents some of the finest qualities in human nature.'"

"That wasn't much like love talk, John."

"It was the best kind of talk, mother. There had to be some commonplace
conversation to induce that familiarity which made love talk possible.
So I told her how the ash would grow _anywhere_--even at the seaside,
where all trees lean from the sea--_except the ash_. Sea or no sea, it
stands straight up. Even the oak will shave up on the side of the wind,
_but not the ash_. And best of all, the ash bears pruning better than
any other tree. Pruning! That is the great trial both for men and trees,
mother. None of us like it, but the ash-tree makes the best of it."

"What did she say to all this rigmarole about trees?"

"She said there was something very human about trees, that she had often
watched them tewing with a great wind, tossing and fretting, but very
seldom giving way to it. And she added, 'They are a great deal more
human than mountains. I really think they talk about people among
themselves. I have heard those ash-trees laughing and whispering
together. Many say that they know when the people who own them are going
to die. Then, on every tree there are some leaves splashed with white.
It was so the year father died. Do you believe in signs, Mr. Hatton?'
she asked.

"Then, mother, without my knowledge or intention I answered, '_Oh, my
dear_! The world is full of signs and the man must be deaf and blind
that does not believe in them. I have seen just round Hatton that the
whole bird world is ruled by the signs that the trees hang out.' And she
asked me what they were, and I told her to notice next spring that as
soon as the birch-leaves opened, the pheasant began to crow and the
thrush to sing and the blackbird to whistle; and when the oak-leaves
looked their reddest, and not a day before, the whole tribe of finches
broke into song.

"Thus talking, mother, and getting very close and friendly with each
other, we passed through the park, and I could not help noticing the
abun