Make pure my heart as a bird and innocent as a flower,
Make sweet my thoughts as the meadow-mint
--O make me all anew,
And in the strength of beech and oak gird up my will with power.

"I have wandered far, O my mother, but here I return at the last,
Never again to stray in pilgrimage wanton and wild;
A broken heart and a contrite here at thy feet I cast,
O take me back to thy bosom ..." And the mother answered, "Child!"_

It was a wonderful reconciliation, a wonderful home-coming, and how I
luxuriated in the great green forgiveness! Yes! the giant maples had
forgiven me, and the multitudinous beeches had taken me to their arms.
The flowers and I were friends again, the grass was my brother, and the
shy nymph-like stream, dropping silver vowels into the silence, was my
sweetheart.




CHAPTER III

"TRESPASSERS WILL BE..."


For those who value it, there is no form of property that inspires a
sense of ownership so jealous as solitude. Rob my orchard if you will,
but beware how you despoil me of my silence. The average noisy person can
have no conception what a brutal form of trespass his coarsely cheerful
voice may be in the exquisite spiritual hush of the woods, or what