CHAPTER IV.
AN AFTERNOON EXCURSION.
THE boys, after completing their work, amused themselves in various ways until dinner time. They proposed going over to Mr. Preston’s in the afternoon; and as soon as dinner was dispatched, they were on their way. The distance was about three quarters of a mile; but it was the nearest house to Mr. Davenport’s. A walk of less than fifteen minutes brought them to a large, old-fashioned farm-house, shaded by a great elm tree. Three girls were just coming from the house, each with a small basket or tin pail in her hand. Ella and Emily were among them, and the first-named introduced the youngest to Whistler as her cousin Harriet. Harriet was between ten and eleven years old. She and Emily were the only children of the family now at home. The youngest of the flock—sweet little Mary—fell sick and died about six months previous to the time of which I am writing. A month or two before that sad event, the oldest of the children, Jerry, took it into his head that he could find a better place than home, and suddenly disappeared one Sunday, while the family were at church. For a long time nothing was heard from him; but at length he wrote to them, from a foreign port, stating that he had gone to sea, and was bound on a long voyage.
It appeared that the girls were about starting on a strawberry excursion when the boys arrived; and the latter having been invited to join them, they all set out together. Strawberries grow wild in that part of the country. Ella and Whistler, to whom this fruit was known only as a dear-bought luxury, thought it must be fine to eat the berries fresh from the vines, with no fear of coming to the bottom of the box, and no two-shillings-per-quart drawback upon the indulgence. They sauntered along in advance of the others, looking on every side for the red and luscious fruit; but they found none; for it was a long walk to the strawberry patch. In going to it, they had to pass through a swamp, near the upper end of the pond, the entrance to which did not look very inviting to Ella.
“O, dear! I never can go through that horrid place!” she exclaimed. “I should be frightened out of my wits!”
“O, no, you won’t,” said Clinton. “There’s a good path all the way through, and nothing will hurt you. You follow right behind me, and I’ll help you over the bad places.”
Ella still stood in doubt, while Whistler in his eagerness was following the faint track, forgetful of his companions. Emily and Harriet assured their cousin that they had often crossed the swamp; and, with a little further encouragement from Clinton, she set forward,—not, however, without some misgivings. In some places the ground was very wet; and they had to step upon stones, logs, stumps, etc., which had been used for this purpose for years. Two or three brooks also crossed their track, over which old logs had been thrown to serve as bridges. In many places a thick growth of bushes, often armed with sharp thorns, stretched across the path, making it difficult for them to force their way through. Ella, however, was the only one who evinced any fear; and, but for Clinton’s constant encouragement and aid, she would have concluded that the strawberries were not worth the risk and trouble of getting them.
“Are there any snakes here?” she inquired, a new terror bursting on her mind.
“None of any consequence,” replied Clinton. “There may be a few water-snakes: but they won’t harm any body.”
“It makes no difference what they are, if they are only snakes,—I’m as afraid of one kind as of another,” said Ella, who had a city girl’s dread of everything of the serpent kind.