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giant blackberry bushes bowed under 

 their load of delicious berries. Out on 

 the bog meadow, where the muskrat 

 builds his home by the ditch, there were 

 plenty of cranberries, growing on their 

 pretty vines down in the meadow moss. 



We boys quite frequently left the berry- 

 picking to see if we could discover any 

 of the tenants of the queer conical houses, 

 which at a distance looked so much like 

 haycocks. Or, if it were hot, as it was 

 quite likely to be in the autumn, when 

 we had a spell of Indian summer, we 

 would go away into the deep woods be- 

 yond the meadow to spy out chestnut 

 and walnut trees, or possibly wild grapes. 



Bounteous stores there were in the 

 woods, and we knew quite well where 

 they were to be found. The dry knolls 

 where the partridge-berries grew, and 

 the lightning scarred spruce that had 



