They never cease until new leaves come out in the spring to push off the old ones.I love to stand beneath them with my ear to the trunks,interpreting what they say to fit my moods.The beeches branch low,and their leaves are small so they only know common earthly things;but the oaks run straight above almost all other trees before they branch,their arms are mighty,their leaves large.
They meet the winds that travel around the globe,and from them learn the big things."Philip studied the girls face."What do the beeches tell you,Elnora?"he asked gently.
"To be patient,to be unselfish,to do unto others as I would have them do to me.""And the oaks?"
"They say `be true,'`live a clean life,'`send your soul up here and the winds of the world will teach it what honour achieves.'""Wonderful secrets,those!"marvelled Philip."Are they telling them now?Could I hear?""No.They are only gossiping now.This is play-time.
They tell the big secrets to a white world,when the music inspires them.""The music?"
"All other trees are harps in the winter.Their trunks are the frames,their branches the strings,the winds the musicians.
When the air is cold and clear,the world very white,and the harp music swelling,then the talking trees tell the strengthening,uplifting things.""You wonderful girl!"cried Philip."What a woman you will be!""If I am a woman at all worth while,it will be because I have had such wonderful opportunities,"said Elnora.
"Not every girl is driven to the forest to learn what God has to say there.Here are the remains of Freckles's room.
The time the Angel came here he sang to her,and I listened.
I never heard music like that.No wonder she loved him.
Every one who knew him did,and they do yet.Try that log,it makes a fairly good seat.This old store box was his treasure house,just as it's now mine.I will show you my dearest possession.I do not dare take it home because mother can't overcome her dislike for it.
It was my father's,and in some ways I am like him.
This is the strongest."
Elnora lifted the violin and began to play.She wore a school dress of green gingham,with the sleeves rolled to the elbows.She seemed a part of the setting all around her.
Her head shone like a small dark sun,and her face never had seemed so rose-flushed and fair.From the instant she drew the bow,her lips parted and her eyes turned toward something far away in the swamp,and never did she give more of that impression of feeling for her notes and repeating something audible only to her.Philip was too close to get the best effect.He arose and stepped back several yards,leaning against a large tree,looking and listening intently.
As he changed positions he saw that Mrs.Comstock had followed them,and was standing on the trail,where she could not have helped hearing everything Elnora had said.
So to Philip before her and the mother watching on the trail,Elnora played the Song of the Limberlost.It seemed as if the swamp hushed all its other voices and spoke only through her dancing bow.The mother out on the trail had heard it all,once before from the girl,many times from her father.To the man it was a revelation.
He stood so stunned he forgot Mrs.Comstock.He tried to realize what a city audience would say to that music,from such a player,with a similar background,and he could not imagine.
He was wondering what he dared say,how much he might express,when the last note fell and the girl laid the violin in the case,closed the door,locked it and hid the key in the rotting wood at the end of a log.Then she came to him.Philip stood looking at her curiously.
"I wonder,"he said,"what people would say to that?""I played that in public once,"said Elnora."I think they liked it,fairly well.I had a note yesterday offering me the leadership of the high school orchestra in Onabasha.
I can take it as well as not.None of my talks to the grades come the first thing in the morning.I can play a few minutes in the orchestra and reach the rooms in plenty of time.It will be more work that I love,and like finding the money.I would gladly play for nothing,merely to be able to express myself.""With some people it makes a regular battlefield of the human heart--this struggle for self-expression,"said Philip.
"You are going to do beautiful work in the world,and do it well.When I realize that your violin belonged to your father,that he played it before you were born,and it no doubt affected your mother strongly,and then couple with that the years you have roamed these fields and swamps finding in nature all you had to lavish your heart upon,I can see how you evolved.I understand what you mean by self-expression.I know something of what you have to express.The world never so wanted your message as it does now.It is hungry for the things you know.
I can see easily how your position came to you.What you have to give is taught in no college,and I am not sure but you would spoil yourself if you tried to run your mind through a set groove with hundreds of others.I never thought I should say such a thing to any one,but I do say to you,and I honestly believe it;give up the college idea.
Your mind does not need that sort of development.Stick close to your work in the woods.You are becoming so infinitely greater on it,than the best college girl I ever knew,that there is no comparison.When you have money to spend,take that violin and go to one of the world's great masters and let the Limberlost sing to him;if he thinks he can improve it,very well.I have my doubts.""Do you really mean that you would give up all idea of going to college,in my place?""I really mean it,"said Philip."If I now held the money in my hands to send you,and could give it to you in some way you would accept I would not.I do not know why it is the fate of the world always to want something different from what life gives them.If you only could realize it,my girl,you are in college,and have been always.You are in the school of experience,and it has taught you to think,and given you a heart.
