The Baltimore County union, the Towson news., 1909-11-13
An 0ld-F Fashioned Wood Pile.
CFrom the Christian Advocate.)

(From the Christian Advocate)
The one we have in mind was such
as is seldom to be seen nowadays.
1t was in the ample yard of big
farm in Maine, not in the front yard,
which was consecrated to beauty and
fragrance, and yet not in the rear of
the house, but in the broad space be-
tween it and the barn, not far from
the tall, long-handled pump. 1t was
an immense wood-pile, for the thrifty
farmer had several stalwart boys, and
not only laid in fre-wood for his own
home but also sold it, sawed and split,
to good many homes in the seaside
village two miles away.
Jolly times the boys had chopping
it in the thick woods when the snow
was deep and on days when the sun
shine was bright and the air was
crisp. They did not cut down the
frs whose balsam perfumed the air,
nor the tall pines that here and there
shot high above the hardwood, nor
many of the white birches, though
sometimes one of the kind called ca
noe-birch, whose bark could be taken
off in immense sheets. The trees
that they chopped down and cut into
cordwood lengths were mostly tough
yellow birch and rock maple and
hickory. Through the winding wood
roads and the deep snow they hauled
scores of cords and piled them in line
on the further side of the yard. The
woods, the orchard and the yard were
alive with red squirrels and striped
chipmunks, and in the depths OF the
forest rabbits were plenty. Foxes
seldom let themselves be seen, but
their trails were everywhere.
The winter birds were not songsters,
but they were numerous and COM
panionable, and among the various
varieties the most notable were the
the pure-white arctic visitors, the
snow-buntings. They moved in dense
focks across the fields and pas
lures and along the highways, Some
times they would settle down into the
yard for an instant, then rise quickly
and away again like flying bit OF
foam whipped by the wind from the
crest of breaking wave.
When the sun got higher and the
days grew longer the wood was cut
into stove length, save that reserved
for the great fireplace in the sitting
room, and split, and became noble
mountain, everywhere exhaling deli
cate fragrance. This was the real
wood wood-pile. On its peaks the
birds summed themselves. Itrehected
the sunbeams from a thousand points.
To walk around it was quite jour
ney. To climb to its summit without
falling or halting on the way was a
splendid gymnastic achievement that
none but the young and the 1.-THE at
tempted. 1t was strenuous toll that
transformed the trees into this state
ly and magnificent mountain, but it
was the very poetry of action, and in
wrought with it was much merry
music.
Even more beautiful though than
the vast wood-pile was the glorious
illumination in the sitting-room fire.
place during the long winter evenings.
The wood that fed this was not cut
into stove-length. While the wild
winds angrily roared without the
flames merrily roared up the wide
throated chimney, and their reflected
radience danced perpetually all over
the walls of the great room. The
most beautiful memories of my life
live in the light of that fire. | was
not one of the tall brothers that
chopped the trees and brought home
the logs and raised the wood-pile that
was like mountain, but | married
the divinity whom they all adored,
the fair saint that was their sister, and
by the fireplace we did our counting.
A goodly pile of logs was brought in
for us, and consciously we burned
them all.
Long before that winter woed-pile
had melted into ashes the strongest
and handsomest of the athletic youths
that created it was wearing his young
life away before Port Hudson. In one
of his last letters he lovingly pictured
in simple language full of Unconscious
literary grace, his sweet memories Of
the daily routine of the farm. Still |
see him moving and working with the
ease and beauty of Greek god, secure
from change in his high-hearted ways.