134 GREEN TRAILS AND UPLAND PASTURES 



ically). After we left Huckleberry Hill we crossed a 

 meadow and entered the woods, following a dim cart 

 track for a long way, till we suddenly came upon the 

 mossy ruins of a stone wall, in the heart of the scrub 

 timber. 



"There!" exclaimed my grandfather. "There she 

 is! You see, the wall must have come from a long way 

 off to get here." 



"But why did you build a wall through the woods?" 

 I asked. 



"There were no woods here when this wall was built," 

 Grandfather answered and I knew that he was telling 

 me the truth now, for the funny little squint had gone 

 out of his blue eyes. "My father kept sheep, hundreds 

 and hundreds of sheep, and this was part of their graz- 

 ing land. Why, my mother used to weave my clothes 

 herself, and they were warmer than the ones you buy 

 in Boston, I can tell you!" 



"What became of the sheep?" said I, "and have all 

 these woods grown up since you were a boy? And 

 how did your mother she was my great-grandmother, 

 wasn't she? weave clothes? And did you use to help 

 shear the sheep? And 



"Yes and no," my grandfather laughed. "The 

 woods have all grown up since I was a young man, and 

 the sheep have all made chops for little boys to eat, 

 and nobody remembers how to make cloth any more." 



"Why? "I asked. 



