The Parks. 105 



in consequence is quite regularly decked with these patches 

 of green, darker than the surrounding grass. Not only the 

 moss, but also white birches and bushes, have grown upon 

 these old corn hills, and the trees have attained consider- 

 able size. 



In one of the parks there is a patch of wild strawberries. 

 The bright tinted leaves that come even in June, attract 

 your attention to the vines, and thus often lead to the dis- 

 covery of the berries. When the grass is low the berries 

 nestle close to the earth, and when it is high, they are 

 borne on long steins. If the ground has been burned over, 

 the berries grow luxuriantly, and seem to be riches springing 

 from poverty, the bright red fruit among the black and 

 burned stems. The best way to eat them, especially when 

 they are small, is to gather several and put them into your 

 mouth at once, the flavor is intensified thereby. But the 

 strawberry has its revenge and seems to say, " you cannot 

 part me from my calyx and bruise me so, without detection, 

 you shall have my blood on your hands," and so you go 

 away with crimson fingers. 



There are generally too many berries for the birds to 

 eat. Nature is like a kind mother, she would give her 

 children plenty. This relation of the birds to the berries, 

 each deriving a benefit from the other, is also pleasing. 



It seems rather dreadful to put one's big splay feet into 

 these little natural strawberry beds, and crush most clumsily 

 the nodding fruit, but we cannot walk without committing 

 great havoc, and I often notice where I have trodden down 

 he cities of the ants. 



Later come the bunch cherries. The shining black 



