with the fragrance of the
pines and of the warm earth; no sound reached their ears aside from the
chirping of the crickets, the occasional dropping of a pine-cone, or the
gentle sighing of the light breeze through the branches above their
heads.

A glorious scene lay outspread before them; the distant ranges half
veiled in purple haze, the valleys flooded with golden light, brightened
by the autumnal tints of the deciduous timber which marked the courses
of numerous small streams, and over the whole a restful silence, as
though, the year's work ended, earth was keeping some grand, solemn
holiday.

Mr. Britton first broke the silence, as in low tones he murmured,
reverently,--

"'Thou crownest the year with Thy goodness!'"

Then turning to Darrell with a smile of peculiar sweetness, he said,
"This is one of what I call the year's 'coronation days,' when even
Nature herself rests from her labors and dons her royal robes in honor
of the occasion."

Then, as an answering light dawned in Darrell's eyes and the tense lines
in his face began to relax, Mr. Britton continued, musingly:

"I have often wondered why we do not imitate Nature in her great annual
holiday, and why we, a nation who garners one of the richest harvests of
the world, do not have a national harvest festival. How effectively and
fittingly, for instance, something similar to the old Jewish feast of
tabernacles might be celebrated in this part of the country! In the
earliest days of their history the Jews were commanded, when the year's
harvest had been gathered, to take the boughs of goodly trees, of
palm-trees and willows, and to construct booths in which they were to
dwell, feasting and rejoicing, for seven days. In the only account given
of one of these feasts, we read that the people brought olive-branches
and pine-branches, myrtle-branches and palm-branches, and made
themselves booths upon the roofs of their houses, in their courts, and
in their streets, and dwelt in them, 'and there was very great
gladness.' Imagine such a scene on these mountain-slopes and foot-hills,
under these cloudless skies; the sombre, evergreen boughs interwoven
with the brightly colored foliage from the lowlands; this mellow, golden
sunlight by day alternating with the white, mystical radiance of the
harvest moon by night."

Mr. Britton's words had, as he intended they should, drawn Darrell's
thoughts from himself. Under his graphic description, accompanied by the
po