Where Town and Country Meet 



round, hairy berries, pleasantly sour and 

 acrid to the taste, and perfectly harmless. 

 Was there ever a boy who did not love to 

 chew the mouth-puckering sprays of the 

 red sumach and flood his much-enduring 

 stomach with the acrid juice? I picked 

 four of the Brilliant cones for my autumn 

 nosegay. Then, descending the other slope 

 of the ridge, I stopped by the tumble 

 down stone wall that skirted a mountain 

 road, to gather a few of the thick black clus 

 ters of wild sarsaparilla berries brushing the 

 stones. A little farther along the wall I found 

 some bearberry bushes, a trailing shrub 

 with evergreen leaves. There were but few 

 berries on the low bushes, but these were a 

 beautiful, clear, almost transparent red, and 

 so pleasant in taste that one can readily ap 

 preciate the relish with which, in good old 

 times, bears were said to devour them. 



Climbing over the wall into the grass- 

 grown road, I followed the faint wheel- 

 tracks down into a little hollow where a 

 brook crossed the road. On both sides of 

 the stream the stone wall was covered with 

 the twining, vinelike stems of the bitter 

 sweet, heavily fruited with deep orange 



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