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There is hardly a more striking feature in the landscape nowadays than the red patches of blueberry and whortleberry bushes, as seen on a sloping hillside, like islands among the grass, with trees growing in them; or crowning the summit of a bare, brown hill with their somewhat russet liveliness; or circling round the base of an earth-imbedded rock.
I have forgiven her for the way she snapped me up for, of course, you couldn't beg your father to beat you when he was bringing you blueberry pie. Mrs. Robinson makes a kind that leaks out a thick purple juice into the plate and needs a spoon and blacks your mouth, but is heavenly. The week is almost up and very soon Dr.
Any one could see, without entering, the straw bed in the far corner, the beams piled deep with red and white oak acorns, the strings of dried apples and bunches of everlastings hanging from the rafters, and the half-finished baskets filled with blown bird's-eggs, pine cones, and pebbles. No home in the village was better loved than Tom's retreat in the blueberry plains.
"But I liked the deep, blue sea better or even Blueberry Island," and off came his hat to cool his flushed face, for, though it was late in September, the day was warm. "But we couldn't stay on the island, always," went on Nan. "We have to go to school, daddy says!" "Don't speak about it!" begged Bert. "I don't want to go to school for a long, long time, and not then!"
"We don't want pie and cake when we're camping in the woods," declared Bert. "We didn't have it at Blueberry Island that is, not every day." "All right! I guess you'll get along!" laughed the driver, as he went off through the trees to find the cook and some of the men of the lumber camp. Mr. and Mrs.
I remember his burlesque pretence that morning of an inextinguishable grief when I owned that I had never eaten blueberry cake before, and how he kept returning to the pathos of the fact that there should be a region of the earth where blueberry cake was unknown.
So tired and spent was she, that for some minutes she lay under the blueberry clump before she could gather strength to pull herself up and go on. It was a very hard and painful walk, and the wind and the darkness did all they could to keep her back; but the gallant little heart did not fail, and, at last, just as the first dim dawn was breaking, she gained the village and Mr. Downs's door. Mrs.
"Well, there was Libby," the mother answered at length, "the colored girl I had when you were born. She really was perfect, in a way. She was a clean darky, and such a cook! Daddy talks still of her fried chicken and blueberry pies! And she loved company, too.
The berries are blue with a grape-like bloom and, like the first variety, grow in thick clusters at the end of the branch. You can grab a good handful in passing, so many are there in a bunch. =High-Bush Blueberry= On the high-bush blueberry the color of the berries varies. Some bushes bear a black, shiny berry, others a smooth, blue, and still others blue with a bloom. The sizes differ also.
With a thumping heart she pushed slowly forward through the brush until her face, fox-like with cunning and screened by a blueberry bush, hung just over the edge of the cliff, and there she lay, like a crouched panther-cub, looking down. For a moment, all that was human seemed gone from her eyes, but, as she watched, all that was lost came back to them, and something more.
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