clothing. Both the kind-hearted and the curious had plied this little
boy with questions, relative to his manner of life, his mother,
brothers, and sisters; but his answers were far from giving information
upon any of these points. He always declined a proposed visit by
saying, "Mother don't want no company." This seemed true enough; for
when any visitor to the plain called at Graffam's for a drink of water,
they were never invited to enter. The water was handed them through a
small opening, and the mother was seldom visible.

It was one of the brightest of our July mornings, when a blue-berry
company started from the village before-mentioned. Two wagons filled
with young people passed along the principal street at an early hour,
raising a cloud of dust as they turned the corner where stood a
guide-board pointing out the _plain_ road to the pond. Onward rolled
the two wagons, the tin-pails and dippers dancing and rattling in the
rear, keeping time with the clatter of untamed tongues in the van.
"Shall we call at 'Appledale?'" asked the driver of the first wagon,
coming to a sudden stand.

"Go along!" laughingly answered a gay girl in the second. "Our horse is
putting his nose into your tin rattletraps."

The question was repeated.

"They are strangers to us," replied a black-eyed young lady, "and from
seeing them at church I should think them precise. A refusal would be
mortifying; and if the prim Miss Martha concludes to go, that will be
still worse. We cannot act ourselves, and all the fun will be spoiled.
What say you, Fanny Brighton?"