, The Plums and the Cherries 



A lurid colour lightened the plum thicket as it came in sight. 

 The yellow leaves were falling and the fruit glowed on the bending 

 twigs. Close up the wagon is drawn; then all hands pile out, 

 and the fun really begins. "How large and sweet they are this 

 year!" Mother knows how to avoid the puckery thick skin in 

 eating plums. The youngsters try to chew two or three at once 

 and their faces are drawn into knots. But they soon get used 

 to that. 



Now the small folk with pails are sent to pick up ripe plums 

 under the trees, and warned against eating too many. " Remem- 

 ber last year," says mother — and they remember. The larger 

 boys spread strips of burlap and rag carpet under the fullest 

 trees, in turn, and give their branches a good beating that showers 

 the plums down. With difficulty the boys and girls make their 

 way into the thicket; but torn jackets and aprons and scratched 

 knuckles can be mended — such accidents are overlooked in the 

 excitement of filling the grain sacks with the ripe fruit. How 

 fine "plum butter" will taste on the bread and butter of the 

 noon lunch when winter comes and school begins! (The Pennsyl- 

 vanian's love for "spreads" on his bread leavened the West 

 completely.) 



Other neighbours have come, and started in with a vim. 

 It seems unreasonable to take any more. The bags are full, 

 and there are some poured loose into the wagon box. Besides, 

 everybody is tired, and John shouts that the hazel nuts are ripe 

 on the other side of the log road. 



A great grapevine, loaded with purple clusters, claims mother's 

 attention. There will probably be no better chance for grapes 

 this fall, and the sun is still an hour high. John chops down the 

 little tree that supports it, and the girls eagerly help to fill the 

 pails with the fruit of the prostrate vine, while John goes back to 

 command the hazel-nut brigade and see that no eager youngster 

 strays too far. 



Mother's voice gives the final summons, and the children 

 gather at the wagon, tired but regretful for the filled husks that 

 they must leave behind on the hazel bushes. A loaded branch 

 of the grapevine is cut off bodily, and lifted into the wagon. The 

 team is hitched on, and the happy passengers in the wagon turn 

 their faces homeward. 



Such was the poetry of pioneer life. Pleasures were simple, 

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