t was like a valley that one might find in a dream. Our
brook flowed through it and in one place there was a quiet pool and an
overhanging rock. Willows and alders sheltered it, and if you slipped
through without noise and lay very still, you were pretty sure to see a
school of trout, for it was their favorite haunt. Once we counted
twenty-two there, lying head up-stream, gently fanning their tails and
white-edged fins. They were a handsome lot, ranging in size from eight
to twelve inches, and we would not have parted with them for the cost of
the farm.

[Illustration]

The "precious ones" joined in some of these excursions, but our
diversions were too tame for them, as a rule. Wading, racing up and
down, tumbling on the hay, with now and then a book in the shade, was
more to their liking. When the two older ones had gone to school and the
Joy was with us alone, she invented plays of her own, plays in which a
capering horse--that is to say, herself--had the star part. Once I found
her sitting by a tub of water, sailing a wonderful boat in it--one that
she had made for herself, out of a chip and a nail, using a stone for a
hammer. She wore one of the antique bonnets brought down from the attic,
and seemed lost in contemplation of her handiwork. Without her noticing,
I made a photograph. How it carries me back, to-day.

I have mentioned our varied undertakings. When wild grapes ripened on
the roadside walls--the big, fragrant wild grapes of New England--we
made a real business of gathering them. They were in endless quantity,
three colors--pink, purple, and white--and their rich odor betrayed
them. Placing some stones in the brook one afternoon, I became conscious
of a thick wave of that sweet perfume, and, looking up, discovered a
natural trellis of clusters just above my head. I don't know how many
bushels we gathered in all, or how many quarts of jelly and jam and
sweet wine we made. I found in the attic, which we named our "Swiss
Family Robinson," because it was provided with everything we needed, an
old pair of "pressers," and squeezed out grape juice and elderberry
juice and blackberry juice, while Elizabeth stirred and boiled and put
away, for we were New England farmers now, and were going to do all the
things, and have preserves and nuts and apples laid away for winter. How
we worked--played, I mean, for with novelty one does not work, but
becomes a child again, and plays. And the more toys we can find, and the