“Really, Kitty, you are going silly.”
“It is interesting,” pursued Kate; “and then, Rose, I do not altogether believe in the rings telling the age truly. I think the oaks are much older than they pretend to be.”
“Like old maids?” suggested Rose.
“Yes, Rose; after a certain age they cease to grow’cease to swell, they just live on as they were, or go back in their hearts, then they make no rings. The rings tell you for how many years they went on expanding, but say nothing about those when they were at a standstill. Then, look here: the rings are on one side much thicker than on the other, and that is because of a cold and stormy wind. They thicken their bark against the wind, just as I might put on a shawl.”
“Oh,’by the way’touching a shawl”’
But Kate was too eager and interested in her subject to bear interruption.
“I have the oddest and most wonderful thing to show you, Rose. You do not care about the rings, but this you will be truly pleased to see.”
“What is that?”
“Follow me.”
Kate skipped among the prostrate oaks till she reached one large trunk. As she skipped, she sang merrily’