and take me with 'em. I always wanted to see something of the
world. I never have been but dreadful little ways from home. I used
to wish I could keep school; and once my uncle was agent for his
district, and he said I could have a chance; but the folks laughed to
think o' me keeping school, and I never said any thing more about it.
But you see it might 'a' led to something. I always wished I could go
to Boston. I suppose you've been there? There! I couldn't live out
o' sight o' the woods, I don't believe."

"I can understand that," said I, and half with a wish to show her I had
some troubles, though I had so many pleasures that she had not, I told
her that the woods I loved best had all been cut down the winter
before. I had played under the great pines when I was a child, and I
had spent many a long afternoon under them since. There never will be
such trees for me any more in the world. I knew where the flowers grew
under them, and where the ferns were greenest, and it was as much home
to me as my own house. They grew on the side of a hill, and the sun
always shone through the tops of the trees as it went down, while below
it was all in shadow--and I had been there with so many dear friends
who have died, or who are very far away. I told Miss Cynthia, what I
never had told anybody else, that I loved those trees so much that I
went over the hill on the frozen snow to see them one sunny winter
afternoon, to say good-by, as if I were sure they could hear me, and
looked back again and again, as I came away, to be sure I should
remember how they looked. And it seemed as if they knew as well as I
that it was the last time, and they were going to be cut down. It was
a Sunday afternoon, and I was all alone, and the farewell was a reality
and a sad thing to me. It was saying good-by to a great deal besides
the pines themselves.

We stopped a while in the little garden, where Miss Cynthia gave me
some magnificent big marigolds to put away for seed, and was much
pleased because I was so delighted with her flowers. It was a gorgeous
little garden to look at, with its red poppies, and blue larkspur, and
yellow marigolds, and old-fashioned sweet, stray things,--all growing
together in a tangle of which my friend seemed ashamed. She told me
that it looked as orderly as could be, until the things begun to grow
so fast she couldn't do any thing with 'em. She was very proud of one
little pink-and-white verbena whi