Indeed, the daily round furnished to each of the girls so much of enjoyment that they could easily have spared the more formal pleasures, but Aunt Elsie had definite ideas as to the courtesies due between families, and Stella’s prestige in the community gained ready attention for her cousins. There were calls in plenty to be received and returned, and for picnics and teas there were early invitations.
Esterly was counted one of the most social of New England towns, and its summer population included city boarders who had a mind for pleasure. They fell in with whatever was planned for them, Kate and Esther, with ready enjoyment, yet for them both the distinctive engagements of the old home and the old farm remained easily the best. One of them, suggested by Aunt Elsie one day at table, brought a thrill of peculiar pleasure.
“I do wish,” she said, with a glance at the young people which included them all, “that we could get some huckleberries. They say they’re ripe on Gray’s Hill, and I do need something to make pies of.”
Stella gave a little sigh. It was the first invitation of the season to an occupation which she detested; but Esther exclaimed: “Go huckleberrying! Oh, I should like that so much! I’ve heard mother talk about huckleberrying, and I want to see what it’s like.”
“So do I,” said Kate, eagerly. “Why can’t we go this afternoon?”
Stella gave another sigh, this time a deeper one. “Oh, what accommodating creatures you are!” she said. “I ought to want to go with you, of course, but to tell the honest truth I don’t hanker for it, and I’m positively opposed to climbing Gray’s Hill unless we know for certain that those berries are ripe.”
“I saw some there yesterday, over on the south side,” said Tom.
“Then maybe you’d better go too,” said his mother, persuasively. “You could show the girls right where they are.”
Tom may have regretted that he had aired his knowledge, but there was no escape for him now, especially as his grandfather added briskly, “Yes, Tom, you can go as well as not, for we shan’t get in the hay that’s down this afternoon, it’s so cloudy.”
And so it happened that an hour later the four, well supplied with tin pails, were off in search of huckleberries. Across the fields odorous of new-mown hay, by the foot-bridge over the meadow brook, across the old county road and over the low stone wall, they made their pleasant pilgrimage. Tom and Kate were ahead, she keeping steady pace with his easy swing, lowlander though she was, and not to the manner born of such climbing as this. Once, in a dimple of the hill, she made a dash forward, and, swinging her pail above her head, shouted: “I’ve found the first! Here they are!”