my all too scanty stock of patience, and making an
"exposure" in despair, the errant blossoms and leaflets would settle
down into perfect immobility, as if to say, "There! don't be
cross--we'll behave," when it was too late.

But the shagbark at last was good to me, and I could leave with the
comfortable feeling that I was carrying away a little bit of nature's
special work, a memorandum of her rather private processes of
fruit-making, without injuring any part of the inspected trees. It has
been a sorrow to me that I have not seen that great hickory later in the
year, when the clusters of tassels have become bunches of husk-covered
nuts. To get really acquainted with any tree, it should be visited many
times in a year. Starting with the winter view, one observes the bark,
the trend and character of the limbs, the condition of the buds. The
spring opening of growth brings rapid changes, of both interest and
beauty, to be succeeded by the maturity of summer, when, with the
ripened foliage overhead, everything is different. Again, when the fruit
is on, and the touch of Jack Frost is baring the tree for the smoother
passing of the winds of winter, there is another aspect. I have great
respect for the tree-lover who knows unerringly his favorites at any
time of the year, for have I not myself made many mistakes, especially
when no leaves are at hand as pointers? The snow leaves nothing to be
seen but the cunning framework of the tree--tell me, then, is it ash, or
elm, or beech? Which is sugar-maple, and which red, or sycamore?

One summer walk in the deep forest, my friend the doctor, who knows many
things besides the human frame, was puzzled at a sturdy tree bole, whose
leaves far overhead mingled so closely with the neighboring greenery of
beech and birch that in the dim light they gave no help. First driving
the small blade of his pocket-knife deep into the rugged bark of the
tree in question, he withdrew it, and then smelled and tasted,
exclaiming, "Ah, I thought so; it _is_ the wild cherry!" And, truly, the
characteristic prussic-acid odor, the bitter taste, belonging to the
peach and cherry families, were readily noted; and another Sherlock
Holmes tree fact came to me!

Of other hickories I know little, for the false shagbark, the mockernut,
the pignut, and the rest of the family have not been disclosed to me
often enough to put me at ease with them. There are to be more tree
friends, both human and arborescent, and