HO PASTORAL DAYS. 



holes cut through on either side, and numberless shaggy butternuts, too, 

 with daylight let into their recesses also. The boards and beams are 

 covered with cobweb trimmings, laden with wool-dust ; and as we ap- 

 proach a pile of rusty iron near the murky window, we hear a scraping 

 of sharp claws, the dropping of a nut between the rafters, and now a wild 

 scampering on the roof overhead. Before we have fairly recovered from 

 our surprise, we notice a sudden darkening of a hole in the shingles close 

 by, where, still and motionless, two inquisitive black eyes look down at 

 us. We have intruded upon private property, for this is the home of the 

 squirrels. No one can dispute their title, for these little squatters have 

 occupied the premises and held the fort for nearly twenty years. 



They, too, have found forage close at hand, from the nut-grove upon 

 the hill-side yonder — a yellow bank of foliage of clustered hickories and 

 beeches, and rounded domes of chestnuts — a grove whose every rock and 

 bush is my old-time friend; where there are "sermons in stones," and 

 every tree speaks volumes. 



Here is the low thicket of weeds and hazel-bushes where we always 

 flushed that flock of quail, or started up some lively white-tailed hare that 

 jumped away among the quivering" brakes and golclen-rocl. Here are soft 

 beds of rich green moss, studded with scarlet berries of winter-green and 

 partridge-vine. Now we come upon a creeping mat of princess-pine, and 

 here among the leaves we had almost stepped upon a spreading chestnut- 

 burr — that same burr I have so often seen before, that same fuzzy, open 

 palm holding out its tempting bait to lure the eagerness of youth ; an 

 eagerness which always invested a neighbor's chestnuts with a peculiar 

 charm too tempting to resist ; " take one," it seems to say, as it did in 

 years ago ; and its hedge of thorny prickles truly typifies the dangers 

 which surrounded such an undertaking, for these trees belong to Deacon 

 Turney, and he prizes them as though their yellow autumn leaves were so 

 much gold. He guards them with an eagle's eye, and he gathers all their 

 harvest ; no single nut is ever known to sprout in Turney's woods if he 

 knows it. 



This pointed reminder among the leaves fairly pricks my conscience 

 as I recall the many October escapades in which it formed the chief 

 attraction. I remember one occasion in particular, for it is indelibly 

 impressed on my memory, and it was on this very spot. A party of 

 adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious holi- 

 day. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along the 



