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Updated: May 6, 2025
Tully announced pridefully. "I remembered how fond you used to be of wild-blackberry pie so I phoned up to the logging-camp and had the woods-boss send a man out to pick them." "I'm still a pie-hound, Mrs. Tully, and you're still the same dear, thoughtful soul. I'm so glad now that I had sense enough to think of you before I turned my footsteps toward the setting sun." He patted her gray head.
He selected a card from his card- case, sat down, and wrote: Dear Miss Sumner: Here is a priceless hot wild-blackberry pie, especially manufactured in my honour. It is so good I wanted you to have some. In all your life you have never tasted anything like it. Sincerely, BRYCE CARDIGAN. He handed the card to Mrs.
He wished he could tell, by intuition, what she was thinking about and what effect a hot wild-blackberry pie was ultimately to have upon the value of his minority holding in the Laguna Grande Lumber Company. Not until dinner was finished and father and son had repaired to the library for their coffee and cigars did Bryce Cardigan advert to the subject of his father's business affairs.
Here, with but few exceptions, the graves are marked only by low mounds of turf, overrun with matted wild-blackberry vines, where the lightest footstep, crushing through the crumbling sod, destroys the labors of whole colonies of ants. But farther up the hillside, headstones and monuments stand so close together, that, at a distance, there seems to be scarcely room for another grave.
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