ever restore _them_.

As I glance over this new page, I see a merry troop of little girls,
crowding around their kind teacher, trying to restrain their
superabundant spirits, and restless activity, till they may give them
free scope in the woods. Passing up the street, they are joined by
fresh recruits, who come dancing out of the houses, with baskets, and
trowels, and tin boxes, and delightfully mysterious suppers packed
away nicely, to be eaten in the most romantic place that can be
found,--provided there is no danger of snakes, or ivy. Where they are
going I should find it impossible to say, until I have consulted the
new leaf just turned over. Here, side by side, are the wild Columbine
and the cheerful little Bethlehem Star. They grew, I remember, upon
Powder-House Hill, so named from the massive granite building upon its
summit, which we never dared to go near, for fear of an explosion. The
hill was rough, rocky, barren, and in some places quite steep. In the
clefts of the rocks, generally far above our reach, the bright red
columbines stood in groups, drooping their graceful heads. Some of the
rocks were worn to a perfect polish by the feet of daring sliders. It
was a dangerous pastime even to the most experienced. A loss of
balance, a slight deviation from the beaten track, a trip in a hollow,
or a momentary entanglement in your dress,--and you are lost! I
declined joining in the diversion ever after the first attempt, which
was nothing but a headlong plunge from top to bottom. But though I
heroically stood aloof while the girls were enjoying the sport, and
making the air ring with their laughter, I was sure, afterwards, to
come upon the slippery places unintentionally, and take a slide
whether I would or not. I had, I remember, a most unfortunate
propensity for climbing and scrambling, choosing the worst paths, and
daring the others to follow my lead on precarious footholds. It was