THE HAMPSHIRE HILLS


One afternoon many years ago two little brothers named Seth and Abner were
playing in the orchard. They were not troubled with the heat of the August
day, for a soft, cool wind came up from the river in the valley over
yonder and fanned their red cheeks and played all kinds of pranks with
their tangled curls. All about them was the hum of bees, the song of
birds, the smell of clover, and the merry music of the crickets. Their
little dog Fido chased them through the high, waving grass, and rolled
with them under the trees, and barked himself hoarse in his attempt to
keep pace with their laughter. Wearied at length, they lay beneath the
bellflower-tree and looked off at the Hampshire hills, and wondered if the
time ever would come when they should go out into the world beyond those
hills and be great, noisy men. Fido did not understand it at all. He
lolled in the grass, cooling his tongue on the clover bloom, and puzzling
his brain to know why his little masters were so quiet all at once.

"I wish I were a man," said Abner, ruefully. "I want to be somebody and do
something. It is very hard to be a little boy so long and to have no
companions but little boys and girls, to see nothing but these same old
trees and this same high grass, and to hear nothing but the same
bird-songs from one day to another."

"That is true," said Seth. "I, too, am very tired of being a little boy,
and I long to go out into the world and be a man like my gran'pa or my
father or my uncles. With nothing to look at but those distant hills and
the river in the valley, my eyes are wearied; and I shall be very happy
when I am big enough to leave this stupid place."