214 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



of nature in her generous moods, her dessert of 

 wild fruit, freely given, than which there is no 

 better. No hoe or plow of man hath tended 

 them. Up spontaneously, indigenously, the bram- 

 bles spring; up armed with many a horny 

 prickle to hold you fast that you may not go by 

 without seeing what they have to offer big fat 

 juicy berries, full of sweet pulp, full of suste- 

 nance for bees and wasps, for birds of many 

 kinds, for squirrels and marmots, for that higher 

 mammal, man. Out of the clay and other ma- 

 terials of these poor hillside soils the blackberry 

 canes do fashion, through the chemistry of their 

 cells, this juicy pulp, sweeten it to suit your 

 taste, then offer it free for the taking. Is it not 

 a miracle of nature, a miracle greater than any 

 accredited to man, this juggling of earthy in- 

 gredients, this producing of luscious berries by 

 these thorny brambles ? Would that a thousand 

 of the city children, many of whom have never 

 seen berries growing, could have been turned 

 into this forty-acre field. What a shouting and 

 laughter, what a jangling of tin cups and buck- 

 ets, what a smacking of lips, this day there 

 would have been! 



Many of the berries were so ripe that they fell 

 to the ground when the canes were touched. 

 From these riper ones yellow- jackets, bees and 

 wasps were sucking the juices. One handful I 

 suddenly dropped before it reached the bucket. 



