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Updated: June 6, 2025
Anybody who has ever been nine, or ten, or eleven years old, and gone in the woods looking for wintergreens, knows what followed. The eager plunging into the thickest of the thicket; the happy search of every likely bank or open ground in the shelter of some rock; the careless, delicious straying from rock to rock, and whithersoever the bank or the course of the thicket might lead them.
"I didn't know how late it was, mamma." "Where have you been?" "I was picking wintergreens with Nora Dinwiddie." "I hope you brought me some," said Mr. Randolph. "O I did, papa; only I have not put them in order yet." "And where did you and Nora part?" "Here, at the door, mamma." "Was she alone?" "No, ma'am Mr. Dinwiddie found us in the wood, and he took her home, and he brought me home first."
In the edge of the thicket, at the side of the church, was the girl whose appearance Daisy had hailed. "I sha'n't wait for you," cried her brother, as she sprang down. "No go I don't want you," and Daisy made few steps over the greensward to the thicket. Then it was, "O Nora! how do you do? what are you doing?" and "O Daisy! I'm getting wintergreens."
"You sha'n't do it, Marmaduke; they're for old Mrs. Holt, you know." "Come along, then," said her brother; "as long as the baskets are not full the fun isn't over." And soon the children thought so. Such a scrambling to new places as they had then; such a harvest of finest wintergreens as they all gathered together; till Nora took off her sunbonnet to serve for a new basket.
The pony waddled along nicely, but as his legs were none of the longest, their rate of travelling was not precisely of the quickest. Daisy was not impatient. The afternoon was splendid, the dust had been laid by late rains, and Daisy looked at her pail and basket with great contentment. Before she had gone a quarter of a mile from home, she met her little friend of the wintergreens.
If both things have gone on together, like your answers," said he, helping himself out of Nora's stock of wintergreens, "you must have had a basket of talk." "That basket isn't full, sir," said Daisy. "My dear," said Mr. Dinwiddie, diving again into his sister's, "that basket never is; there's a hole in it somewhere." "You are making a hole in mine," said Nora, laughing.
Years ago, when quite a youth, I was rambling in the woods one Sunday, with my brothers, gathering black birch, wintergreens, etc., when, as we reclined upon the ground, gazing vaguely up into the trees, I caught sight of a bird, that paused a moment on a branch above me, the like of which I had never before seen or heard of.
Owls that had been catching mice in the out-houses, rabbits that had been eating the wintergreens in the gardens, and stoats that had been sucking the blood of the rabbits, discerning that their human neighbors were on the move, discreetly withdrew from publicity, and were seen and heard no more that day. The daylight revealed the whole of Mr.
The wintergreens sweet under foot, sweet in the hands of the children, the whole air full of sweetness. Naturally their quest led them to the thicker and wilder grown part of the wood; prettier there, they declared it to be, where the ground became broken, and there were ups and downs, and rocky dells and heights, and to turn a corner was to come upon something new.
The birds and birds'-nests, the berries, the squirrels, the woodchucks, the beech woods with their treasures into which the cows loved so to wander and to browse, the fragrant wintergreens and a hundred nameless adventures, all strung upon that brief journey of half a mile to and from the remote pastures.
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