"Have you heard anything about the Bear Hill party?" he asked suddenly.
"O yes; Miss Delamater came here a week ago to speak about it."
"Are you going?"
"Mother said she would. So I suppose I shall."
"Where is it? and what is it?"
"The place? Bear Hill is a very wild, stony, bare hill—at least one side of it is bare; the other side is covered with trees. And the bare side is covered with blackberry bushes, the largest you ever saw; and the berries are the largest. We always go there every summer, a number of us out of Pleasant Valley, to get blackberries."
"How far is it?"
"Fifteen miles."
"That's a good way to go a-blackberrying," said the young man, smiling.
"People hereabouts must be very fond of that fruit."
"We want them for a great many uses, you know; it isn't just to eat them. Mother makes jam and wine for the whole year, besides what we eat at once. And we go for the fun too, as well as for the berries."