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Going a-fishing or a-berrying is a good introduction to the haunts of the birds, and to their nesting-places. You put forth your hand for the berries, and there is a nest; or your tread by the creeks starts the sandpiper or the water-thrush from the ground where its eggs are concealed, or some shy wood-warbler from a bush.
These latter ripen in July, and give one his last taste of strawberries for the season. But the favorite haunt of the wild strawberry is an uplying meadow that has been exempt from the plow for five or six years, and that has little timothy and much daisy. When you go a-berrying, turn your steps toward the milk-white meadows.
Boys and bob-o-links, do they never come a-berrying up here?" "Birds, I seldom hear; boys, never. The berries mostly ripe and fall few, but me, the wiser." "But yellow-birds showed me the way part way, at least." "And then flew back. I guess they play about the mountain-side, but don't make the top their home.
Children come a-berrying, railroad men taking a Sunday morning walk in clean shirts, fishermen and hunters, poets and philosophers; in short, all honest pilgrims, who came out to the woods for freedom's sake, and really left the village behind, I was ready to greet with "Welcome, Englishmen! welcome, Englishmen!" for I had had communication with that race. The Bean-Field
If you go a-berrying, you may light on something finer than has yet been discovered; but it is not very probable. Meanwhile, for a dollar you can get all the plants you want of the two or three best varieties that have yet been discovered, from Maine to California. After testing a great many kinds, I should recommend the Souhegan for early, and the Mammoth Cluster and Gregg for late.
Indeed, for boy or man to go a-berrying in a certain pastoral country I know of, where a passer-by along the highway is often regaled by a breeze loaded with a perfume of the o'er-ripe fruit, is to get nearer to June than by almost any course I know of. Your errand is so private and confidential! You stoop low.
"But not like those in thy cheeks, dear child. Where is the good mother?" said Darrel. "She and the boys are gone a-berrying, and I have been making jelly. We're going to have a party to-night for your birthday." "'An' rise up before the hoary head an' honour the face o' the old man," said Darrel, thoughtfully. "But, child, honour is not for them that tinker clocks."
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