“Great day for a hike,” Morgan exclaimed. “Just about cold enough to make it pleasant. The buds are all well formed so that you can identify things, and the leaves gone so that you can see something.”
“Yes,” Ormand agreed, “you can see our Thanksgiving dinner running all around us. Did you ever see so many rabbits?”
Greenleaf produced a bunch of twigs he had collected along the way. “Here’s where you fellows take an examination in dendrology. Of course you know all these species from their buds, or think you do, and now we’ll see about it. Scotty and I are not supposed to know anything yet except the conifers, but we’ll see if you can outguess us. Here, for instance,” he proceeded in the tone of a man with a megaphone on a sight seeing automobile, “is a small twig on which there are five perfectly good buds. Mr. Morgan, you will please elucidate.”
Morgan examined the twig carelessly and handed it to Ormand, who passed it on to Scott.
“Elm,” Morgan announced confidently. The others nodded assent.
“Sure,” Greenleaf jeered, “any jay knows that. But now for this neat little fellow.” He handed over a somewhat similar looking twig, but more slender, and with sharper buds standing well out from the twig. Morgan examined this one much more carefully, bit it, tasted it, bent it, passed it on. The others repeated the performance. When it had completed the rounds Morgan declared himself for white birch. Ormand immediately disagreed with him, and, after considerable hesitation, declared himself for blue beech.
“The buds are too big,” objected Morgan.
Scott was completely at sea.
“Very good, very good, gentlemen,” Greenleaf jeered, “but I broke it off an ironwood tree.”
The twig then went the rounds once more and was readily identified by the green on the buds.