58 AN OLD ROAD. 



but to the time of ripening. Diversity of 

 habit in this regard was indeed a great piece 

 of good fortune, not to be rightly appre- 

 ciated without horrible imaginings of how 

 short the season of berry pies and puddings 

 would be if all the berries matured at once. 

 You may be sure we never forgot where 

 the early sorts were to be found, and where 

 the late. What hours upon hours we spent 

 in the broiling sun, picking into some half- 

 pint vessel, and emptying that into a larger 

 receptacle, safely stowed away under some 

 cedar - tree or barberry bush. How proud 

 we were of our heaped-up pails ! How 

 carefully we discarded from the top every 

 half-ripe or otherwise imperfect specimen ! 

 (So early do well-taught Yankee children 

 develop one qualification for the diaconate.) 

 The sun had certain minor errands to look 

 after, we might have admitted, even in 

 those midsummer days, but his principal 

 business was to ripen huckleberries. So it 

 seemed then. And now well, men are 

 but children still, and for them, too, their 

 own little round is the centre of the world. 

 All these pastures had names, of course, 

 well understood by us children, though I 



