THROUGH LIBRARY WINDOWS 22/ 



full of picturesque interest, trees here and there 

 like sentinels marking points to go by, decayed 

 logs from primeval forests and dating back to 

 the original axeman, bushes in large clumps 

 loaded with berries. How we set to work with 

 a will, vowing not to taste a berry until lunch 

 hour. Ah ! how that first berry sounded in our 

 pail — it is music yet in thought and heart; not 

 a word spoken, busy picking, picking for dear 

 life as to who should have most at lunch time. 

 Noon hour came too soon, and there on the hill, 

 under a wide-spreading elm, we sat and lunched 

 and rested — it was one of the times of our life. 

 The dog is barking down by the old pine, he 

 has treed a squirrel and would let us know it. 

 Farther up the hill a woodchuck comes out of 

 his hole and stands on his hind legs and looks 

 about. He heard the dog but is not disturbed. 

 One of the boys has learned from a hunter the 

 "woodchuck call" and utters it and he comes to- 

 ward us, we throw him a crust and he is grate- 

 ful. A half-dozen cows come to the brook to 

 drink and stand in it and cool off and chew their 

 cud contentedly. Old Brindle, so tame, comes 

 up the hill for tid-bits and gets them. She al- 

 lows us to pat her — and milk her. The birds 

 fairly flock into this berry field for their lunches, 



