"I'm so excited about these huckleberries I can't wait to get there. Don't you love to see those clumps and clusters of dusky blue berries just waiting to be jingled into the pail? The woods smell so sweet, too, with the wild honeysuckle and wild roses."
"And wild bog cranberry and wild turnip and wild beech plums," Grandfather added. "Well, here we are."
They had switched from the macadam to a road deep with sand through which the light car had been ploughing for the last several minutes. There was a cleared space before them and a path leading into the woods beyond.
"Foller your nose," Grandfather said, "and you'll find berries enough to make huckleberry dumplings for a regiment."
Elizabeth and Peggy slipped into the big gingham aprons that Grandmother had provided, and each slung a pail over an arm.
"I'll bet I can get more than you do," Peggy said.
"If you do, it's because your fingers are longer." Elizabeth looked ruefully at her small, chubby hands.
"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp," Peggy said. "I can quote poetry as well as your friend, Jean, but don't ask me what that's out of, because I don't know. My fingers are longer. I don't know whether that makes any difference or not, but I'll give you a handicap."
"I scorn your handicaps. One, two, three, go. May the best girl win." Elizabeth shot down the path, and the sound of the fruit beginning to spatter into her pail was heard almost immediately.
"I never saw so many blue or huckleberries in my life. I've got the loveliest, thickest patch—come over here, Elizabeth," Peggy shouted from her retreat.