From the hilltop the broad river could be seen winding away in the distance, and a soft, bluish, smoky haze hung over the water.

The forest seemed to be on fire.

The yellow leaves of the poplars, the brown of the white and black oaks, the red and purple of the maples, and the green of the pines and hemlocks flamed in a glorious blaze of color.

A stillness, which was only broken now and then by the twittering of birds uttering the plaintive notes peculiar to them in the autumn as they band together before their pilgrimage to the far south, pervaded the forest.
Betty loved the woods, and she knew all the trees.

She could tell their names by the bark or the shape of the leaves.