beautiful,” said Valancy. “Oh, Barney, look at that wild plum! I will — I must quote from John Foster. There’s a passage in one of his books — I’ve re-read it a hundred times. He must have written it before a tree just like that:

“‘Behold the young wild plum-tree which has adorned herself after immemorial fashion in a wedding-veil of fine lace. The fingers of wood pixies must have woven it, for nothing like it ever came from an earthly loom. I vow the tree is conscious of its loveliness. It is bridling before our very eyes — as if its beauty were not the most ephemeral thing in the woods, as it is the rarest and most exceeding, for today it is and tomorrow it is not. Every south wind purring through the boughs will winnow away a shower of slender petals.