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Updated: May 2, 2025
I bore with me my bouquet, my basket of boxberries, some small cedar trees for transplanting, and half of the largest clam-shell the shores of Cape Cod had ever produced; this last a parting gift from Lovell Barlow. I was far from being troubled with the consciousness of anything quaint or bizarre in my appearance.
"O, ma," said Horace, coming, into the house one morning glowing with excitement, "mayn't I go in the woods with Peter Grant? He knows where there's heaps of boxberries." "And who is Peter Grant, my son?" "He is a little boy with a bad temper," said aunt Louise, frowning severely at Horace.
In the other hand, he held out to me a basket of large, selected boxberries. I accepted the gifts with unaffected delight, and thanked Bachelor Lot warmly.
The native and domestic fruits were plentiful, but many of them were poor. The apples and pears and Kentish cherries were better than the peaches and grapes. The children gathered the summer berries in season, and the autumn's plentiful and spicy store of boxberries, checkerberries, teaberries or gingerbread berries with October's brown nuts.
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