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made a better berry, but certainly God never 

 did." 



This flat, wet breadth is the dewberry's 

 chosen home. Here in May you shall 

 see twenty-foot-long trails of white blooms, 

 prone on the earth amid sedge and wire- 

 grass, with a cloud of busy, gold -dusted 

 bees sucking sweet content from all the 

 flower-hearts. Here, too, in June you may 

 come through dew and sunrise to pick sweet, 

 black fruit, scarce less lucent than the dew. 



Most likely the partridges will be there 

 before you. Then the first broods have just 

 begun to run freely from the nest. The 

 brown mothers know to a day when this 

 dainty fruit is ripe. There is no prettier 

 sight than one of the small, shy creatures, 

 a berry in her bill, calling her brood to the 

 feast, while her mate stands sharply at at- 

 tention. 



To see it you must needs move with feet 

 of silence, or have " receipt of fern-seed and 

 walk invisible." If you do but stir or break 

 a twig, the old birds give a little quavering 

 cry, the young ones melt into the grass 

 the earth their elders meanwhile fluttering 

 away with tossing, squawking, and beating 

 of wings. 



Birds of all feather flock to the feast of 

 7 



