And when, and where, do you think we find the children next? No longer
in the winter-time, but in the merry month of May. No longer in
Tanglewood play-room, or at Tanglewood fireside, but more than halfway
up a monstrous hill, or a mountain, as perhaps it would be better
pleased to have us call it. They had set out from home with the mighty
purpose of climbing this high hill, even to the very tiptop of its
bald head. To be sure, it was not quite so high as Chimborazo or Mont
Blanc, and was even a good deal lower than old Graylock. But, at any
rate, it was higher than a thousand ant-hillocks or a million of
mole-hills; and, when measured by the short strides of little
children, might be reckoned a very respectable mountain.
And was Cousin Eustace with the party? Of that you may be certain;
else how could the book go on a step farther? He was now in the middle
of the spring vacation, and looked pretty much as we saw him four or
five months ago, except that, if you gazed quite closely at his upper
lip, you could discern the funniest little bit of a mustache upon it.
Setting aside this mark of mature manhood, you might have considered
Cousin Eustace just as much a boy as when you first became acquainted
with him. He was as merry, as playful, as good-humored, as light of
foot and of spirits, and equally a favorite with the little folks, as
he had always been. This expedition up the mountain was entirely of
his contrivance. All the way up the steep ascent, he had encouraged
the elder children with his cheerful voice; and when Dandelion,
Cowslip, and Squash-Blossom grew weary, he had lugged them along,
alternately, on his back. In this manner, they had passed through the
orchards and pastures on the lower part of the hill, and had reached
the wood, which extends thence towards its bare summit.
The month of May, thus far, had been more amiable than it often is,
and this was as sweet and genial a day as the heart of man or child
could wish. In their progress up the hill, the small people had found
enough of violets, blue and white, and some that were as golden as if
they had the touch of Midas on them. That sociablest of flowers, the
little Houstonia, was very abundant. It is a flower that never lives
alone, but which loves its own kind, and is always fond of dwelling
with a great many friends and relatives around it. Sometimes you see a
family of them, covering a space no bigger than the palm of your hand;
and sometimes a large community, whitening a whole tract of pasture,
and all keeping one another in cheerful heart and life.
Within the verge of the wood there were columbines, looking more pale
than red, because they were so modest, and had thought proper to
seclude themselves too anxiously from the sun. There were wild
geraniums, too, and a thousand white blossoms of the strawberry. The
trailing arbutus was not yet quite out of bloom; but it hid its
precious flowers under the last year's withered forest-leaves, as
carefully as a mother-bird hides its little young ones. It knew, I
suppose, how beautiful and sweet-scented they were. So cunning was
their concealment, that the children sometimes smelt the delicate
richness of their perfume before they knew whence it proceeded.
Amid so much new life, it was strange and truly pitiful to behold,
here and there, in the fields and pastures, the hoary periwigs of
dandelions that had already gone to seed. They had done with summer
before the summer came. Within those small globes of winged seeds it
was autumn now!
Well, but we must not waste our valuable pages with any more talk
about the spring-time and wild flowers. There is something, we hope,
more interesting to be talked about. If you look at the group of
children, you may see them all gathered around Eustace Bright, who,
sitting on the stump of a tree, seems to be just beginning a story.
The fact is, the younger part of the troop have found out that it
takes rather too many of their short strides to measure the long
ascent of the hill. Cousin Eustace, therefore, has decided to leave
Sweet Fern, Cowslip, Squash-Blossom, and Dandelion, at this point,
midway up, until the return of the rest of the party from the summit.
And because they complain a little, and do not quite like to stay
behind, he gives them some apples out of his pocket, and proposes to
tell them a very pretty story. Hereupon they brighten up, and change
their grieved looks into the broadest kind of smiles.
As for the story, I was there to hear it, hidden behind a bush, and
shall tell it over to you in the pages that come next.
[Illustration]