But he never did.
For from that day he never saw the gander again; nor could he ever find the way to the pine-forest, though he fancied he had remembered it quite well; nor did he ever see the game of brush-cricket played again.
Sometimes he even doubted whether he had been to Pineland, and had seen the wonderful game.
"But yet," said he, "if I had not seen it, how should I know anything about the forest and the Pine Queen? and how should I know how brush-cricket is played?"
And how should he?
Julia Goddard.
HARVEST DAYS.
Over the cornfield fell the sunlight,
And turned all the stubble to gold,
And 'neath the pale cloud-shades of evening
Deep crimson and purple unrolled.
The gleaners were busily gleaning
The yellow corn scattered around;
The waggons, all heavily laden,
Were tracing with furrows the ground.