130 A WEEK ON WALDEN'S RIDGE. 



knew but one kind of tupelo, as he knew 

 but one kind of " ellum." There were many- 

 kinds of oaks, some of which he named as 

 we passed them. This botanical catechism 

 presently waked up the only other passenger 

 in the wagon, a modest girl of ten or twelve 

 years. She too, it appeared, had some ac- 

 quaintance with trees. I had asked the 

 driver if there were no long-leaved pines 

 hereabout. " No, suh," he said. " But I 

 think I saw some at Chickamauga the other 

 day," I ventured. (It was the only place I 

 did see them, as well as I remember.) " Yes, 

 sir," put in the girl, " there are a good many 

 there." " Good for you ! " I was ready to 

 say. It was a pretty rare schoolgirl who, 

 after visiting a battlefield, could tell what 

 kind of pines grow on it. Persimmons? 

 Yes, indeed, the girl had eaten them. 

 There was a tree by the fence. Had I never 

 eaten them ? She seemed to pity me when 

 I said " No," but I fancied she would have 

 preferred to see me begin with one a little 

 short of ripe. 



As for the birds of Walden's Ridge, the 

 driver said, there were partridges, pheasants, 

 and turkeys. He had seen ravens, also, 



