few ideas are like three or four marbles on a level floor; they
have no power to move themselves, but roll equally well in any
direction you push them.

This afternoon I turned a lot of little town boys into my strawberry
bed, and now it looks like a field that had been harrowed and rolled.
I think they would gladly have pulled up some of the plants to see
whether there might not be berries growing on the roots.


It is unwise to do everything that you can for people at once; for
when you can do nothing more, they will say you are no longer like
yourself, and turn against you. So I have meant to go slowly with
the Cobbs in my wish to be neighborly, and do not think that they
could reasonably be spoiled on one dish of strawberries in three
weeks. But the other evening Mrs. Cobb sent over a plate of golden
sally-lunn on a silver waiter, covered with a snow-white napkin;
and acting on this provocation, I thought they could be trusted
with a basket of cherries.

So next morning, in order to save the ripening fruit on a rather small
tree of choice variety, I thought I should put up a scarecrow, and
to this end rummaged a closet for some last winter's old clothes.
These I crammed with straw, and I fastened the resulting figure
in the crotch of the tree, tying the arms to the adjoining limbs,
and giving it the dreadful appearance of shouting, "Keep out of
here, you rascals, or you'll get hurt!" And, in truth, it did look
so like me that I felt a little uncanny about it myself.

Returning home late, I went at once to the tree, where I found not