“How luscious they are!” he said, “and how beautiful, too, in form and color! See how the little yellow seeds contrast with the red pulp, and what a pretty green cup holds the fruit, and how gracefully the berry hangs from the stem.”
Gill was always eloquent over the productions of the earth. “They are our heavenly Father’s handiwork,” he said. “No wonder there is so much glory and perfection!”
The Scotchman took great pains with the strawberry-bed. He planted the roots in rows and hills, and when the creeping shoots made new stocks, he transplanted these to another place, never letting them run thickly together and form a tangled mass. His strawberry-vines were large and fine, and the triple leaves were broad and green, upon their long foot-stalk and in the midst of them shot up silky stems, with pure white blossoms, like snowflakes, at the top, and, by and by, the snowflakes vanished, and the little pale-green berries appeared, and grew, and grew, and changed into the perfect scarlet fruit which is so delicious of itself, and yet is varied by being eaten with cream and sugar, and by being made into jam and short-cakes and other dishes. It seems almost an insult to this lovely berry to add any thing to it, as if we thought it capable of improvement. For my part, I think it never so delicious as when it is eaten off the vines while the dew is upon it. Only it makes one feel a trifle sorrowful, if one sees in the dew the tears of the little sisters and the big, as if they wept at the thought of the separation that was to come. But, then, we must not expect all joy and sweetness in the things of this world. We ought to be willing to take the evil with the good. I mean what we call evil; for there is no evil for any of us in what comes from God’s hand. It must be all good to us, whatever it may seem to our poor, half-blind hearts and eyes.
Gill and the children had so many little wooden baskets filled with the rich, ripe fruit! It shone through the side-slits right temptingly, and was covered at the top with fresh, green leaves. The gooseberries and currants were none the worse for being picked over night. It would be different, by and by, when they should be softened and made ruddy by the ripening sun.
The turkeys knew enough to vacate the old market-cart before Gill came along with Dobbin, though one had the impudence to hop up, when the Scotchman’s back was turned, and stick his bill under a green leaf, and get one of the very nicest of the scarlet berries. Gill drove him away, and there was a great scampering, for the berry shone red in his mouth, and all the brothers and sisters wanted it—ill-gotten gains, though it was—and, after all, he had to keep such watch, and was so worried before he could get away by himself into a sly corner, that he had poor enjoyment of it I am sure. But then we must not forget that he was only a turkey, and, of course, knew nothing of the wrong of picking and stealing.
CHAPTER VIII. HOME LOVE
YOU need not suppose that Mr. and Mrs. Reed lost sight of their children altogether, because I am telling you so much about their hours with Gill. Oh, no! It would be a singular father and mother that could trust such precious plants as a little son and daughter, to any other culture and training than their own.
“It is good for the children to be out a great deal with nature,” said these wise parents. “Their bodies need the sun and air to make them thrifty and vigorous, and their minds and souls will be all the more healthy for this vigor of body.”