and life of Berkshire all
her own. On the hither side of Pittsfield sits Herman Melville,
shaping out the gigantic conception of his 'White Whale,' while the
gigantic shape of Graylock looms upon him from his study-window.
Another bound of my flying steed would bring me to the door of Holmes,
whom I mention last, because Pegasus would certainly unseat me, the
next minute, and claim the poet as his rider."

"Have we not an author for our next neighbor?" asked Primrose. "That
silent man, who lives in the old red house, near Tanglewood Avenue,
and whom we sometimes meet, with two children at his side, in the
woods or at the lake. I think I have heard of his having written a
poem, or a romance, or an arithmetic, or a school-history, or some
other kind of a book."

"Hush, Primrose, hush!" exclaimed Eustace, in a thrilling whisper, and
putting his finger on his lip. "Not a word about that man, even on a
hill-top! If our babble were to reach his ears, and happen not to
please him, he has but to fling a quire or two of paper into the
stove, and you, Primrose, and I, and Periwinkle, Sweet Fern,
Squash-Blossom, Blue Eye, Huckleberry, Clover, Cowslip, Plantain,
Milkweed, Dandelion, and Buttercup,--yes, and wise Mr. Pringle, with
his unfavorable criticisms on my legends, and poor Mrs. Pringle,
too,--would all turn to smoke, and go whisking up the funnel! Our
neighbor in the red house is a harmless sort of person enough, for
aught I know, as concerns the rest of the world; but something
whispers to me that he has a terrible power over ourselves, extending
to nothing short of annihilation."

"And would Tanglewood turn to smoke, as well as we?" asked Periwinkle,
quite appalled at the threatened destruction. "And what would become
of Ben and Bruin?"

"Tanglewood would remain," replied the student, "looking just as it
does now, but occupied by an entirely different family. And Ben and
Bruin would be still alive, and would make themselves very comfortable
with the bones from the dinner-table, without ever thinking of the
good times which they and we have had together!"

"What nonsense you are talking!" exclaimed Primrose.

With idle chat of this kind, the party had already begun to descend
the hill, and were now within the shadow of the woods. Primrose
gathered some mountain-laurel, the leaf of which, though of last
year's growth, was still as verdant and elastic as if the frost and
thaw had not alternately tried their force upon