packed
away nicely, to be eaten in the most romantic place that can be
found,--provided there is no danger of snakes, or ivy. Where they are
going I should find it impossible to say, until I have consulted the
new leaf just turned over. Here, side by side, are the wild Columbine
and the cheerful little Bethlehem Star. They grew, I remember, upon
Powder-House Hill, so named from the massive granite building upon its
summit, which we never dared to go near, for fear of an explosion. The
hill was rough, rocky, barren, and in some places quite steep. In the
clefts of the rocks, generally far above our reach, the bright red
columbines stood in groups, drooping their graceful heads. Some of the
rocks were worn to a perfect polish by the feet of daring sliders. It
was a dangerous pastime even to the most experienced. A loss of
balance, a slight deviation from the beaten track, a trip in a hollow,
or a momentary entanglement in your dress,--and you are lost! I
declined joining in the diversion ever after the first attempt, which
was nothing but a headlong plunge from top to bottom. But though I
heroically stood aloof while the girls were enjoying the sport, and
making the air ring with their laughter, I was sure, afterwards, to
come upon the slippery places unintentionally, and take a slide
whether I would or not. I had, I remember, a most unfortunate
propensity for climbing and scrambling, choosing the worst paths, and
daring the others to follow my lead on precarious footholds. It was
unfortunate, because I seldom came forth from these trials unscathed.
I was always tearing my dresses in clambering over fences, or bumping
my head in creeping under. Where others cleared brooks with a light
spring, I landed in the middle. I was sure to pick out spongy, oozy,
slippery grass to stand upon, in marshy land, or was yet more likely
to slump through over shoes in black mud. Banks always caved in
beneath my feet, unexpectedly. Brambles seemed to enter into a
conspiracy to lay violent hands on me, and hidden boughs lay in wait
to trip me up. Moss and bark scaled off the trunks of fallen trees,
bearing me with it when I was least on my guard, or the trunks
themselves, solid enough to all appearance, crushed to powder beneath
my unwary tread. Even the stone walls deserted me. I made use of one
as a bridge, one day, to reach a golden cowslip that grew temptingly
in a swamp; but a treacherous stone rolled off with me, and a perfect
avalan