cking blueberries.--Sam, _loq_.

As, you see, boys, 'twas just here,--Parson Carryl's wife, she died
along in the forepart o' March: my cousin Huldy, she undertook to keep
house for him. The way on't was, that Huldy, she went to take care
o' Mis' Carryl in the fust on't, when she fust took sick. Huldy was
a tailoress by trade; but then she was one o' these 'ere facultised
persons that has a gift for most any thing, and that was how Mis' Carryl
come to set sech store by her, that, when she was sick, nothin' would do
for her but she must have Huldy round all the time: and the minister,
he said he'd make it good to her all the same, and she shouldn't lose
nothin' by it. And so Huldy, she staid with Mis' Carryl full three
months afore she died, and got to seein' to every thing pretty much
round the place.

"Wal, arter Mis' Carryl died, Parson Carryl, he'd got so kind o' used to
hevin' on her 'round, takin' care o' things, that he wanted her to stay
along a spell; and so Huldy, she staid along a spell, and poured out
his tea, and mended his close, and made pies and cakes, and cooked and
washed and ironed, and kep' every thing as neat as a pin. Huldy was a
drefful chipper sort o' gal; and work sort o' rolled off from her like
water off a duck's back. There warn't no gal in Sherburne that could
put sich a sight o' work through as Huldy; and yet, Sunday mornin', she
always come out in the singers' seat like one o' these 'ere June roses,
lookin' so fresh and smilin', and her voice was jest as clear and sweet
as a meadow lark's--Lordy massy! I 'member how she used to sing some o'
them 'are places where the treble and counter used to go together: her
voice kind o' trembled a little, and it sort o' went thro' and thro' a
feller! tuck him right where he lived!"

Here Sam leaned contemplatively back with his head in a clump of sweet
fern, and refreshed himself with a chew of young wintergreen. "This 'ere
young wintergreen, boys, is jest like a feller's thoughts o' things that
happened when he was young: it comes up jest so fresh and tender every
year, the longest time you hev to live; and you can't help chawin'
on't tho' 'tis sort o' stingin'. I don't never get over likin' young
wintergreen."

"But about Huldah, Sam?"

"Oh, yes! about Huldy. Lordy massy! when a feller is Indianin' round,
these 'ere pleasant summer days, a feller's thoughts gits like a flock
o' young partridges: they's up and down and everywhere; 'cause one place