96 SHEPHERDSTOWN, ON THE POTOMAC. 



land shore rose opposite us but not nearly so high. We liad reached 

 the highest point, and the path now descended, and after running 

 for a short distance close along by the river made a gentle ascent 

 over a hillside the like of which, for beauty, I never saw, except here, 

 either in Virginia or elsewhere. A grassy slope facing the Southwest, 

 with trees scattered here and there, and at first that seemed all. 

 But you had scarcely taken ten steps before you found that you were 

 crushing pansies, or violets as the others called them, by the hundred, 

 the hillside was blue with them. A clump of maples crowned the 

 hill, a soft grey sky, more misty than cloudy spread over all, and 

 saddening the scene slightly, not for such youngsters as we, but for 

 Mr. Devon perhaps, a very faint and pale ghost of a well grown 

 crescent just showed itself, above the tree tops. 



All down the rough, stony side toward the river were trailing great 

 bunches of red columbine. The river itself rolled tranquilly past, the 

 whole scene, hill and sky and lovely crescent moon reflected in its 

 quiet depths. 



"This is Violet Hill," said Margaret, "you have never been here 

 before — I know you would like it;" and then Nanny — the third and 

 last of the Southard girls — and the bo}'S, who had left us as we ap- 

 proached Violet Hill, came tearing back with hands and baskets full 

 of pansies, and eyes brilliant with delight. 



"Oh, sister Pidgy, there are millions of violets," cried Nanny. 

 I regret to say that my cousin Margaret was known as Pidge or 

 Pidgy (diminutive for Pigeon, I suppose) not only in the bosom of 

 her family, but to the world at large ; indeed very few people knew 

 what her real name was. 



"My flowers are all for you cousin Helen," Nannie went on as 

 soon as she had regained her breath. " I picked them for you ; and you 

 may have the basket too, they will keep fresher in that," and quite re- 

 lieved to be rid of them all, and with free hands once more, basket and 

 flowers and all, were tossed into my lap. "And mine are for sister" 

 said loyal Charley, in whose heart no new cousin, no matter how agree- 

 able, could rival the well loved sister. "Mine are for Ma," said Bob, 

 "and Nell may keep them for her — " and away the three ran again. 

 We elder ones sat there quietly for a while, and though it was grow- 

 ing late, no one seemed inclined to make a move. 



What color there had been had died out, as the sun had got lower, 



