Near the entrance of the wood, meandered a clear stream, and the soft, rich grass sloped gently to the bank, while the branches of an old elm tree fell partly on the water, and formed a fairy-like nook; and here the children stopped,—’twas the very spot for their feast, before they gathered their berries. The baskets were quickly opened, and the contents spread upon the mossy bank. But who was to do the honours of the table? Their choice quickly fell upon a beautiful girl, the daughter of the minister. Bessie Lee was indeed beautiful; her golden hair clustered round her face, and her eyes, of the colour of the noonday sky, shaded by their dark lashes, gave an unusually lovely expression to her countenance;
“And her laugh, full of life, without any control,
But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her soul.”
No wonder, then, she was loved by all—rich and poor, young and old. A wreath of wild flowers was twined by the happy subjects, and the lovely queen was crowned. And then they separated to gather the berries, going in different directions, but intending to meet by the spring ere they returned home.
Bessie hurried eagerly on towards the interior of the woods, but she went not alone; her cousin, Harry Morton, about her own age, accompanied her to help to fill her basket. Hand in hand they wandered, ever and anon stopping to gather the clustering berries, or the bright flowers, that grew in their path. They heard the voices of their companions, but soon the sound died away in the distance. Yet they pressed on, conversing gaily;—but the baskets were filled, and should they not return, asked Harry of his cousin. She looked up,—the sun was shedding his declining rays through the trees, and the woods were flooded with golden light.
“I did not know it was so late,” exclaimed Bessie: “we shall be missed, and our schoolmates will be waiting by the spring; we shall have to walk fast.”
They turned to retrace their steps and hastened on. “Surely,” said Henry, “this is not the way we came; the trees are closer together, and I do not see the big chestnut we said we would have for a landmark.” “Oh,” cried Bessie, “that is farther on; it was just where the two roads met;—we shall soon be there—don’t you think so?” The poor boy did not answer; he felt that they had lost their way, and he feared to tell his cousin, for timid as a fawn she had always been.
“Are you tired, Bessie?” He looked into her face; the flush of hope had disappeared, and her faltering steps could scarce support her. He placed his arm around her slender waist; “Lean upon me, cousin; you are fatigued.”
“Oh, Henry!” she exclaimed, bursting into tears; “we are lost; and my poor mother, how will she feel? We shall never see her again; we shall have to stay in this dark place all night—and the bears and lions—oh, what shall we do?”
“Do not cry, dear cousin; there are no wild animals here now; there is nothing to hurt us here. The woods in this part are free; and don’t you know what we read this morning,—there were no lions in this country?”