Some ten miles from the city, at a place Rich in diversity of wood and water, They left the cars. Rachel's delight was wild. Never was day so lovely! Never grass So green! And O the flowers! "Look, only look, Miss Percival! What is it? Can I pluck As many as I want?"--"Ay, that's a harebell." "And O, look here! This red and yellow flower! Tell me its name."--"A columbine. It grows In clefts of rocks. That's an anemone: We call it so because the leaves are torn So easily by the wind; for _anemos_ Is Greek for wind."--"Oh! here's a buttercup! I know that well. Red clover, too, I know. Isn't the dandelion beautiful? And O, Miss Percival, what flower is this?" "That's a wild rose."--"What, does the rose grow wild? But is not that delightful? A wild rose! And I can take as many as I want! I did not dream the country was so fine. How very happy must the children be Who live here all the time! 'Tis better far Than any garden; for, Miss Percival, The flowers are here all free, and quite as pretty As garden flowers. O, hark! Did ever bird So sweetly sing?"--"That was a wood-thrush, dear." "O darling wood-thrush! Do not stop so soon! Look there, on that stone wall! What's that?"--"A squirrel." "Is that indeed a squirrel? Are you sure? How I would like a nut to throw to him! What are these little red things in the grass?" "Wild strawberries, my dear."--"Wild strawberries! And can I eat them?"--"Yes, we'll take a plate And pick it full, and eat them with our dinner." "O, will not that be nice? Wild strawberries That we have picked ourselves!"
And so the day Slid on to noon; and then, it being hot, They crossed a wall into a skirting wood, And there sat down upon a rocky slab Covered with dry brown needles of the pine, And ate their dinner while the birds made music. "'Tis a free concert, ours!" said Rachel Aiken: "How nice this dinner! What an appetite I'm having all at once! My father says That I must learn to eat: I soon could learn In such a place as this! I wish my father Himself would eat; he works too hard, I fear; He works in lead: and the lead makes him ill. See what nice clothes he buys me! I'm afraid He pays for me more than he can afford, Seeing he has a mother to support And a blind sister; for, Miss Percival, I'm but his step-child, and my mother died Two years ago; then my half-sister died, His only little girl, and now he says That I am all he has in the wide world To love and cherish dearly,--all his treasure. What would I give if I could bring him here To these sweet woods, away from lead and work!"
