What had she ever seen so
beautiful as this,--the shifting, twinkling myriads of leaves, blazing
with every imaginable shade of color above the black, straight trunks;
the deep, translucent blue of the sky bending above; the golden light
which transfused the whole scene; the crisp freshness of the afternoon
air? She wanted to sing, to dance, to do everything that was joyous and
free. But now she had work to do. She visited all her favorite
trees,--the purple ash, the vivid, passionate maples, the oaks in their
sober richness of murrey and crimson. On each and all she levied
contributions, cutting armful after armful, and carried them to the
house, piling them in splendid heaps on the shed-floor. Then, after
carefully laying aside a few specially perfect branches, she began the
work of decoration. Over the chimney-piece she laid great boughs of
maple, glittering like purest gold in the afternoon light, which
streamed broadly in through the windows. Others--scarlet, pink, dappled
red, and yellow--were placed over the windows, the doors, the dresser.
She filled the corners with stately oak-boughs, and made a bower of the
purple ash in the bow-window,--Faith's window. Then she set the
tea-table with the best china, every plate and dish resting on a mat of
scarlet leaves, while a chain of yellow ones outlined the shining square
board. A tiny scarlet wreath encircled the tea-kettle, and even the
butter-dish displayed its golden balls beneath an arch of flaming
crimson.
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