"Ugh—blueberries are disgusting," said he.
"That's because you have stuffed yourself with them," I replied.
"I want some bread and butter," said Karl. "And I'm tired—so tired."
"Oh, keep still."
A minute after, it was exactly the same.
"I'm so tired, so tired."
O dear! I should certainly have to take him home. We were in a little open space. Pine-trees stood close together around it, whispering softly. To save my life, I could not remember which direction we had come from; there were little mounds and moss and blueberry patches and pine-trees everywhere.
Whoever knew such a pickle as this? How in the world had we come here? I couldn't tell—no matter which way I looked. I sprang here and I ran there to find something I recognized, but I got more and more bewildered and Karl grew crosser and crosser. He kicked at his basket of blueberries.
"Horrid old berries! I want to go home—I'm just mad at everything here. I'm mad as can be."
If you have never been in a great forest, you cannot possibly imagine anything so bewildering. Trees and trees and trees in every direction and nothing else; no clear space, no opening anywhere. But even yet I wasn't a bit afraid. The sunshine was bright, the forest air fragrant and I had three quarts of blueberries in my basket—three quarts at the very least. But Karl was heavy to drag along and my berry basket weighed down my other arm, and there was no end to the trees.