"O, Peter, for pity's sakes how do I know? It's a tree of heaven, I suppose. It has pink hollyhocks growing on it. What makes you ask so many questions?"
Upon that the boys went to work picking boxberry leaves, which grew at the roots of the pine trees, among the soft moss and last year's cones. Horace was very anxious to gather enough for some beer; but it was strange how many it took to fill such "enormous big baskets."
"Now," said Horace, "I move we look over yonder for some wintergreen. You said you knew it by sight."
"Wintergreen? wintergreen?" echoed Peter; "O, yes, I know it well enough. It spangles 'round. See, here's some; the girls make wreaths of it."
It was moneywort; but Horace never doubted that Peter was telling the truth, and supposed his grandmother would be delighted to see such quantities of wintergreen.
After some time spent in gathering this, Horace happened to remember that he wanted sarsaparilla.
"I reckon," thought he, "they'll be glad I came, if I carry home so many things."
Peter knew they could find sarsaparilla, for there was not a root of any sort which did not grow "in the pines;" of that he was sure. So they struck still deeper into the woods, every step taking them farther from home. Pincher followed, as happy as a dog can be; but, alas! never dreaming that serious trouble was coming.
The boys dug up various roots with their jackknives; but they both knew the taste of sarsaparilla and could not be deceived.
"We hain't come to it yet," said Peter; "but it's round here somewheres, I'll bet a dollar."