“In a short time we came in sight of the big, lonely house and entered the long neglected park and garden.  I noticed at once a splendid belt of old ash-trees that shielded the house from the north and northeast winds.  I asked Jane if she knew who planted them, and she said she had heard that the builder of the house planted the trees.  Then I told her I suspected the builder had been a very wise man, and when she asked why I answered, Because he could hardly have chosen a better tree.  The ash represents some of the finest qualities in human nature.’”

“That wasn’t much like love talk, John.”

“It was the best kind of talk, mother.  There had to be some commonplace conversation to induce that familiarity which made love talk possible.  So I told her how the ash would grow anywhere—­even at the seaside, where all trees lean from the sea—­except the ash.  Sea or no sea, it stands straight up.  Even the oak will shave up on the side of the wind, but not the ash.  And best of all, the ash bears pruning better than any other tree.  Pruning!  That is the great trial both for men and trees, mother.  None of us like it, but the ash-tree makes the best of it.”

“What did she say to all this rigmarole about trees?”

“She said there was something very human about trees, that she had often watched them tewing with a great wind, tossing and fretting, but very seldom giving way to it.  And she added, ’They are a great deal more human than mountains.  I really think they talk about people among themselves.  I have heard those ash-trees laughing and whispering together.  Many say that they know when the people who own them are going to die.  Then, on every tree there are some leaves splashed with white.  It was so the year father died.  Do you believe in signs, Mr. Hatton?’ she asked.

“Then, mother, without my knowledge or intention I answered, ’Oh, my dear!  The world is full of signs and the man must be deaf and blind that does not believe in them.  I have seen just round Hatton that the whole bird world is ruled by the signs that the trees hang out.’  And she asked me what they were, and I told her to notice next spring that as soon as the birch-leaves opened, the pheasant began to crow and the thrush to sing and the blackbird to whistle; and when the oak-leaves looked their reddest, and not a day before, the whole tribe of finches broke into song.

“Thus talking, mother, and getting very close and friendly with each other, we passed through the park, and I could not help noticing the abundance of hares and pheasants.  Jane said they had not been molested since her father’s death, but now they were going to send some of them to market.  As we approached the house, an old man came to meet us and I gave my horse to his care.  He had the keys of the house and he opened the great door for us.  The Hall was very high and cold and lonely, but in a parlor on the right-hand side we found an