Sinopsis

To dwellers in a wood almost every species of tree has its voice as well as its feature. At the ing of the breeze the fir-trees sob and moan no less distinctly than they rock; the holly whistles as it battles with itself; the ash hisses amid its quivering’s; the beech rustles while its flat boughs rise and fall. And winter, which modifies the note of such trees as shed their leaves, does not destroy its individuality. On a cold and starry Christmas-eve within living memory a man was pas a lane towards Mel stock Cross in the darkness of a plantation that whispered thus distinctively to his intelligence.