"And how we played snowballs on the way home from school? And your hair was all full of snow, and I took it down—do you remember?—and did it up again in the middle of the road."
"Yes, and did it all wrong; and the others laughed."
The trees winked at one another as if they had never beard such talk before.
"And the confirmation classes after!" said the girl warmly. "Oh, I shall never forget that time—the lovely summer days, and the shady birches near the church…."
The trees nodded. The house with a cross on top—all they had heard of it was the bell that rang there, and the big firs had wondered what it was. Now here were human beings themselves telling what went on inside.
"And you've grown up to a great big girl since then! It seems so strange—as if you were the same and not the same."
"And you!" The gentle warmth of a woodland summer played in the girl's blue eyes. "A tall, big woodcutter you've grown."
They were silent for a while.
The trees listened breathlessly.
A warm flood rose in the young man's breast—like a summer wave washing the sands of an untrodden shore.