xcursions. She liked to have me
call her early and go tiptoing and whispering about our preparations and
to wade off through the dewy grass in her rubber boots, leaving the rest
of the house asleep. She generally carried the basket, and was deeply
interested in my maneuvers when the cry of the "teacher"-bird and the
call of the wood-thrush did not distract her attention. I can still see
the grass up to her fat little waist, her comical blue apron, her
dimpled round face and the sunlight on her hair. She had a deep pity for
the trout, but her sporting instinct was deeper still. Sometimes when
there was a slip, and a big shining fellow would go bouncing and
splashing back into the brook, she would jump up and down and demand,
excitedly:

"Why didn't you catch that one, Daddy? Why didn't you catch him? That
was a big, big, _big_ one?" And she walked very proudly when we had six
or more to carry back for breakfast.

Strawberries and trout--how is that for a breakfast combination in June?
Trout just from the water and strawberries fresh from the garden. We had
planted a good patch of strawberries the August of our arrival and they
had done wonderfully well for the first year. Often by the time we had
come from fishing Elizabeth had been out and filled a bowl, and
sometimes even made a short-cake, for we were old-fashioned enough to
love short-cake--old-fashioned short-cake made with biscuit dough (not
the sweet-cake kind) for breakfast. And breakfast with trout and
short-cake--short-cake with cream, mind you!--in New England in June,
when the windows open on the grass and the wood-thrushes are calling, is
just about as near paradise as you can get in this old world.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER EIGHT

I

_Fate produced a man who had chickens to sell_

[Illustration]

With June the Pride and the Hope came home from school. The brook, the
barn, Old Beek, and Mis' Cow all had their uses then--also a tent in the
yard, a swing, hammock and whatnot. When God made the country He made it
especially for children. Burning suns, a weedy garden and potato blight
may dismay the old, but such things do not fret the young mind. As long
as the brook is cool and the fields are sweet and there is fresh milk
and succotash on the table, happy childhood is indifferent to care.

[Illustration]

We were given to picnics. Often we packed some food things into a basket
and went into the woods and spread them in a shady place. Lena,