assembled a merry party of little folks, with a
tall youth in the midst of them. They had planned a nutting
expedition, and were impatiently waiting for the mists to roll up the
hill-slopes, and for the sun to pour the warmth of the Indian summer
over the fields and pastures, and into the nooks of the many-colored
woods. There was a prospect of as fine a day as ever gladdened the
aspect of this beautiful and comfortable world. As yet, however, the
morning mist filled up the whole length and breadth of the valley,
above which, on a gently sloping eminence, the mansion stood.

This body of white vapor extended to within less than a hundred yards
of the house. It completely hid everything beyond that distance,
except a few ruddy or yellow tree-tops, which here and there emerged,
and were glorified by the early sunshine, as was likewise the broad
surface of the mist. Four or five miles off to the southward rose the
summit of Monument Mountain, and seemed to be floating on a cloud.
Some fifteen miles farther away, in the same direction, appeared the
loftier Dome of Taconic, looking blue and indistinct, and hardly so
substantial as the vapory sea that almost rolled over it. The nearer
hills, which bordered the valley, were half submerged, and were
specked with little cloud-wreaths all the way to their tops. On the
whole, there was so much cloud, and so little solid earth, that it had
the effect of a vision.

The children above-mentioned, being as full of life as they could
hold, kept overflowing from the porch of Tanglewood, and scampering
along the gravel-walk, or rushing across the dewy herbage of the lawn.
I can hardly tell how many of these small people there were; not less
than nine or ten, however, nor more than a dozen, of all sorts, sizes,
and ages, whether girls or boys. They were brothers, sisters, and
cousins, together with a few of their young acquaintances, who had
been invited by Mr. and Mrs. Pringle to spend some of this delightful
weather with their own children at Tanglewood. I am afraid to tell you
their names, or even to give them any names which other children have
ever been called by; because, to my certain knowledge, authors
sometimes get themselves into great trouble by accidentally giving the
names of real persons to the characters in their books. For this
reason I mean to call them Primrose, Periwinkle, Sweet Fern,
Dandelion, Blue Eye, Clover, Huckleberry, Cowslip, Squash-Blossom,
Milkweed, Plantai