OLD COLONY BERRY PASTURES 171 



that begin to seem like thin ice), and by 

 and by came to the wood-path leading to it. 

 How perfectly I remembered the place : this 

 speedy, uphill curve to the left, rounding the 

 hill ; this dense bunch of low-branched ever- 

 greens a little farther on, under which, with 

 our pails full (or half full we could not 

 work miracles, though we lived under the 

 Mosaic economy), we used to creep for rest 

 and shade while trudging homeward on 

 blazing summer noons. But the path was 

 surprisingly overgrown. At short intervals 

 thorny smilax vines (cat-briers) were sprawl- 

 ing over the very middle of it, and had to 

 be edged through cautiously. The appear- 

 ance of things grew less and less familiar. I 

 must be on the right track, but surely I had 

 gone far enough. The broad clearing should 

 be close at hand. I went on and on. Yes, 

 here was the old stone wall between Harvey 

 White's pasture and Pine-tree pasture. But 

 the pastures themselves? They were not 

 here. Then it came over me, with all the 

 force and suddenness of a direct revelation, 

 that forty years is a long time. In less time 

 than that a pasture may become a forest. I 



