"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. "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 sun-
bonnet to serve for a new basket. And such joyous, lively,
rambling talk as they had all three, too; it was twice as good
as they had before; or as Daisy, who was quiet in her
epithets, phrased it, "it was nice." By Mr. Dinwiddie's help
they could go faster and further than they could alone; he
could jump them up and down the rocks, and tell them where it
was no use to waste their tine in trying to go.
They had wandered, as it seemed to them, a long distance —
they knew not whither — when the children's exclamations
suddenly burst forth, as they came out upon the Sunday-school
place again. They were glad to sit down and rest. It was just
sundown, and the light was glistening, crisp and clear, on the
leaves of the trees and on the distant hill-points.
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