imagination for some time, and now, with a basket slung between us, that links us as we walk, we meditate a raid.

As with light, exultant footsteps we hurry onwards, snatches of song fall from my lips--a low, soft contralto voice being my one charm. We are utterly, carelessly, recklessly happy, with that joyous forgetfulness of all that has gone before, and may yet follow, that belongs alone to youth. Now and then Billy's high, boyish notes join mine, making the woods ring, until the song comes to sudden grief through lack of memory when gay laughter changes the echo's tone. Here a bunch of late and luscious blackberries claim our attention. And once we have a mad race after a small brown squirrel that evades us cleverly, and presently revenges itself for its enforced haste by grinning at us provokingly from an inaccessible branch.

At last the wood we want is reached; the nuts are in full view; our object is attained. "Now," asks Billy, with a sigh of delight, "at which tree shall we begin?" It is a mere matter of form his asking me this question, as he would think it derogatory to his manly dignity to follow any suggestion I might make. All the trees are laden: they more than answer our expectations. Each one appears so much better than the other it is difficult to choose between them.

"At this," I say, at length, pointing to one richly clothed that stands before us.

"Not at all," returns Billy, contemptuously: "It isn't half as good as this one," naming the companion tree to mine; and, his being the master-mind, he carries the day.

"Very good: don't miss your footing," I say, anxiously, as he begins to climb. There are no lower branches, no projections of any kind to assist his ascent: the task is far from easy.

"Here, give me a shove," calls out Billy, impatiently, when he had slipped back to mother earth the fourth time, after severely barking his shins. I give him a vigorous push that raises him successfully to an overhanging limb, after which, being merely hand-over-hand work, he rises rapidly, and soon the spoiler reaches his prey.

Down come the little bumping showers; if on my head or arms so much the greater fun. I dodge; Billy aims; the birds grow nervous at our unrestrained laughter. Already our basket is more than half full, and Billy is almost out of sight among the thick foliage, so high has he mounted.

Slower, and with more uncertain aim come the nuts. I 

 Prev. P 12/313 next