"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." 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. 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. They did not note nor care where
they went, intent upon business and pleasure together, till they came
out suddenly upon a little rocky height, where a small spot was shaded
with cedars and set with benches around and under them. The view away
off over the tops of the trees to other heights and hills in the
distance was winningly fair, especially as the sun shewed it just now in
bright, cool light and shadow. It was getting near sundown.

"Look where we are!" cried Nora, "at the Sunday-school!"

Daisy seated herself without answering.

"I think," went on Nora, as she followed the example, "it is the very
prettiest place for a Sunday-school that there ever was."