But see here, grandma: wouldn't you like to have me go in the woods
'someplace,' and dig roots for you?"

"Yes, indeed, my dear," said she innocently; "and if you should go, pray
get some wintergreen, by all means."

Horace's heart gave a wicked throb of delight. If some one wanted him to
go _after_ something, of course he _ought_ to go; for his mother had
often told him he must try to be useful. Strolling into the woods with
Peter Grant, just for fun, was very different from going in soberly to
dig up roots for grandma.

He thought of it all the way out to the gate. To be sure he might go and
ask his mother again, but "what was the use, when he knew certain sure
she'd be willing? Besides, wasn't the baby crying, so he mustn't go in
the room?"

These reasons sounded very well; but they could be picked in pieces, and
Horace knew it. It was only when the baby was asleep that he must keep
out of the chamber; and, as for being sure that his mother would let him
go into the woods, the truth was, he dared not ask her, for he knew she
would say, "No."

He found Peter Grant lounging near the school-house, scribbling his name
on the clean white paint under one of the windows.

Peter's black eyes twinkled.

"Going, ain't you, cap'n! dog and all? But where's your basket? Wait,
and I'll fetch one."

"There," said he, coming back again, "I got that out of the stable
there at the tavern; Billy Green is hostler: Billy knows me."

"Well, Peter, come ahead."

"I don't believe you know your way in these ere woods," returned Peter,
with an air of importance. "I'll go fust. It's a mighty long stretch,
'most up to Canada; but I could find _my_ way in the dark. I never got
lost anywheres yet!"

"Poh! nor I either," Horace was about to say; but remembering his
adventure in Cleveland, he drowned the words in a long whistle.

They kept on up the steep hill for some distance, and then struck off
into the forest. The straight pine trees stood up solemn and stiff.
Instead of tender leaves, they bristled all over with dark green
"needles." They had no blessings of birds' nests in their branches; yet
they gave out a pleasant odor, which the boys said was "nice."

"But they aren't so splendid, Peter, as our trees out west--don't begin!
_They_ grow so big you can't chop 'em down. I'll leave it to Pincher!"

"Chop 'em down? I reckon it can't be done!" replied Pincher--not in
words, but by a wag of his tail.

"Well, how _do_ you get '