ll you what she was like. I
never saw any one who resembled her. He stopped close here to show her a
bird's nest. Then they went on to a sort of flower-room he had made, and
he sang for her. By the time he left, I had gotten bold enough to come
out on the trail, and I met the big Scotchman Freckles lived with. He
saw me catching moths and butterflies, so he took me to the flower-room
and gave me everything there. I don't dare come alone often, so I can't
keep it up as he did, but you can see something of how it was."

Elnora led the way and Philip followed. The outlines of the room were
not distinct, because many of the trees were gone, but Elnora showed how
it had been as nearly as she could.

"The swamp is almost ruined now," she said. "The maples, walnuts, and
cherries are all gone. The talking trees are the only things left worth
while."

"The 'talking trees!' I don't understand," commented Philip.

"No wonder!" laughed Elnora. "They are my discovery. You know all trees
whisper and talk during the summer, but there are two that have so much
to say they keep on the whole winter, when the others are silent. The
beeches and oaks so love to talk, they cling to their dead, dry leaves.
In the winter the winds are stiffest and blow most, so these trees
whisper, chatter, sob, laugh, and at times roar until the sound is
deafening. They never cease until new leaves come out in the spring to
push off the old ones. I love to stand beneath them with my ear to the
trunks, interpreting what they say to fit my moods. The beeches branch
low, and their leaves are small so they only know common earthly things;
but the oaks run straight above almost all other trees before they
branch, their arms are mighty, their leaves large. They meet the winds
that travel around the globe, and from them learn the big things."

Philip studied the girls face. "What do the beeches tell you, Elnora?"
he asked gently.

"To be patient, to be unselfish, to do unto others as I would have them
do to me."

"And the oaks?"

"They say 'be true,' 'live a clean life,' 'send your soul up here and
the winds of the world will teach it what honour achieves.'"

"Wonderful secrets, those!" marvelled Philip. "Are they telling them
now? Could I hear?"

"No. They are only gossiping now. This is play-time. They tell the big
secrets to a white world, when the music inspires them."

"The music?"

"All other trees are harps in the winter. Their trunks are the f