and spruces, and there were long tracts of
maple and beech woods with their coloring of lighter, fresher green.

"Suppose we go down, now," said Mr. Lorimer, long before Kate and I had
meant to propose such a thing; and our feeling was that of dismay. "I
should like to take you to make a call with me. Did you ever hear of old
Mrs. Bonny?"

"No," said we, and cheerfully gathered our wraps and baskets; and when
Tommy finally came panting up the hill after we had begun to think that
our shoutings and whistling were useless, we sent him down to the
horses, and went down ourselves by another path. It led us a long
distance through a grove of young beeches; the last year's whitish
leaves lay thick on the ground, and the new leaves made so close a roof
overhead that the light was strangely purple, as if it had come through
a great church window of stained glass. After this we went through some
hemlock growth, where, on the lower branches, the pale green of the new
shoots and the dark green of the old made an exquisite contrast each to
the other. Finally we came out at Mrs. Bonny's. Mr. Lorimer had told us
something about her on the way down, saying in the first place that she
was one of the queerest characters he knew. Her husband used to be a
charcoal-burner and basket-maker, and she used to sell butter and
berries and eggs, and choke-pears preserved in molasses. She always came
down to Deephaven on a little black horse, with her goods in baskets and
bags which were fastened to the saddle in a mysterious way. She had the
reputation of not being a neat housekeeper, and none of the wise women
of the town would touch her butter especially, so it was always a joke
when she coaxed a new resident or a strange shipmaster into buying her
wares; but the old woman always managed to jog home without the freight
she had brought. "She must be very old, now," said Mr. Lorimer; "I have
not seen her in a long time. It cannot be possible that her horse is
still alive!" And we all laughed when we saw Mrs. Bonny's steed at a
little distance, for the shaggy old creature was covered with mud,
pine-needles, and dead leaves, with half the last year's burdock-burs in
all Deephaven snarled into his mane and tail and sprinkled over his fur,
which looked nearly as long as a buffalo's. He had hurt his leg, and his
kind mistress had tied it up with a piece of faded red calico and an end
of ragged rope. He gave us a civil neigh, and looked at us curiously