The time of our summer flitting varied. Sometimes we stayed at Green Peace till after strawberry-time, and lingered late at the Valley; sometimes we went early, and came back in time for the peaches. But in one month or another there came a season of great business and bustle. Woollen dresses were put away in the great cedar-lined camphor-chests studded with brass nails; calico dresses were lengthened, and joyfully assumed; trunks were packed, and boxes and barrels; carpets were taken up and laid away; and white covers were put over pictures and mirrors. Finally we departed, generally in more or less confusion.

I remember one occasion when our rear column reached the Old Colony Station just as the train was starting. The advance-guard, consisting of our mother and the older children, was already on board; and Harry and Laura have a vivid recollection of being caught up by our father and tumbled into the moving baggage-car, he flashing in after us, and all sitting on trunks, panting, till we were sufficiently revived to pass through to our seats in the passenger-car. In those days the railway ran no farther than Fall River. There we must take a carriage and drive twelve miles to our home in the Island of Rest. Twelve long and weary miles they were, much dreaded by us all. The trip was made in a large old-fashioned vehicle, half hack, half stage. The red cushions were hard and uncomfortable; the horses were aged; their driver, good, snuff-colored Mr. Anthony, felt keenly his duty to spare them, and considered the passengers a minor affair. So we five children were cramped and cooped up, I know not how long. It seemed hours that we must sit there, while the ancient horses crawled up the sandy hills, or jogged meditatively along the level spaces. Every joint developed a separate ache; our legs were cramped,—the short ones from hanging over the seat, the long ones because the floor of the coach was piled with baskets and bandboxes. It was hot, hot! The flies buzzed, and would not let one go to sleep; the dust rolled in thick yellow clouds from under the wheels, and filled eyes and mouth, and set all a-sneezing. Decidedly, it was a most tiresome jaunt. But all the more delightful was the arrival! To drive in under the apple-trees, just as the evening was falling cool and sweet; to tumble out of the stuffy prison-coach, and race through the orchard, and out to the barn, and up the hill behind the house,—ah, that was worth all the miseries of the journey!

From the hill behind the house we could see the sunset; and that was one thing we did not have at Green Peace, shut in by its great trees. Here, before our eyes, still aching from the dust of the road, lay the great bay, all a sheet of silver, with white sails here and there; beyond it Conanicut, a long island, brown in the noon-light, now softened into wonderful shades of amethyst and violet; and the great sun going down in a glory of gold and flame! Nowhere else are such sunsets. Sometimes the sky was all strewn with fiery flakes and long delicate flame-feathers, glowing with rosy light; sometimes there were purple cloud-islands, edged with crimson, and between them and the real island a space of delicate green, so pure, so cold, that there is nothing to compare with it save a certain chrysoprase our mother had.

Gazing at these wonders, the children would stand, full of vague delight, not knowing what they thought, till the tea-bell summoned them to the house for a merry picnic supper. Then there was clattering upstairs, washing of hands in the great basin with purple grapes on it (it belonged in the guest-chamber, and we were not allowed to use it save on special occasions like this), hasty smoothing of hair and straightening of collars, and then clatter! clatter! down again.

There was nothing remarkable about the house at the Valley. It was just a pleasant cottage, with plenty of sunny windows and square, comfortable rooms. But we were seldom in the house, save at meal-times or when it rained; and our real home was under the blue sky. First, there was the orchard. It was an ideal orchard, with the queerest old apple-trees that ever were seen. They did not bear many apples, but they were delightful to climb in, with trunks slanting so that one could easily run up them, and branches that curled round so as to make a comfortable back to lean against. There are few pleasanter things than to sit in an apple-tree and read poetry, with birds twittering undismayed beside you, and green leaves whispering over your head. Laura was generally doing this when she ought to have been mending her stockings.

Then there was the joggling-board, under the two biggest trees. The delight of a joggling-board is hardly to be explained to children who have never known it; but I trust many children do know it. The board is long and smooth and springy, supported at both ends on stands; and one can play all sorts of things on it. Many a circus has been held on the board at the Valley! We danced the tight-rope on it; we leaped through imaginary rings, coming down on the tips of our toes; we hopped its whole length on one foot; we wriggled along it on our stomachs, on our backs; we bumped along it on hands and knees. Dear old joggling-board! it is not probable that any other was ever quite so good as ours.

Near by was the pump, a never-failing wonder to us when we were little. The well over which it stood was very deep, and it took a long time to bring the bucket up. It was a chain-pump, and the chain went rattlety-clank! rattlety-clank! round and round; and the handle creaked and groaned,—“Ah-ho! ah-ho!” When you had turned a good while there came out of the spout a stream of—water? No! of daddy-long-legses! They lived, apparently, in the spout, and they did not like the water; so when they heard the bucket coming up, with the water going “lip! lap!” as it swung to and fro, they came running out, dozens and dozens of them, probably thinking what unreasonable people we were to disturb them. When the water did finally come, it was wonderfully cold, and clear as crystal.

The hill behind the house was perhaps our favorite play-room. It was a low, rocky hill, covered with “prostrate juniper” bushes, which bore blue berries very useful in our housekeeping. At the top of the rise the bare rock cropped out, dark gray, covered with flat, dry lichens. This was our house. It had several rooms: the drawing-room was really palatial,—a broad floor of rock, with flights of steps leading up to it. The state stairway was used for kings and queens, conquerors, and the like; the smaller was really more convenient, as the steps were more sharply defined, and you were not so apt to fall down them. Then there was the dining-room rock, where meals were served,—daisy pudding and similar delicacies; and the kitchen rock, which had a real oven, and the most charming cupboards imaginable. Here were stored hollyhock cheeses, and sorrel leaves, and twigs of black birch, fragrant and spicy, and many other good things.

On this hill was celebrated, on the first of August, the annual festival of “Yeller’s Day.” This custom was begun by Flossy, and adhered to for many years. Immediately after breakfast on the appointed day, all the children assembled on the top of the hill and yelled. Oh, how we yelled! It was a point of honor to make as much noise as possible. We roared and shrieked and howled, till we were too hoarse to make a sound; then we rested, and played something else, perhaps, till our voices were restored, and then—yelled again! Yeller’s Day was regarded as one of the great days of the summer. By afternoon we were generally quite exhausted, and we were hoarse for several days afterward. I cannot recommend this practice. In fact, I sincerely hope that no child will attempt to introduce it; for it is very bad for the voice, and might in some cases do real injury.

Almost every morning we went down to the bay to bathe. It was a walk of nearly a mile through the fields,—such a pleasant walk! The fields were not green, but of a soft russet, the grass being thin and dry, with great quantities of a little pinkish fuzzy plant whose name we never knew.[1] They were divided by stone walls, which we were skilful in climbing. In some places there were bars which must be let down, or climbed over, or crawled through, as fancy suggested. There were many blackberries, of the lowbush variety, bearing great clusters of berries, glossy, beautiful, delicious. We were not allowed to eat them on the way down, but only when coming home. Some of these fields belonged to the Cross Farmer, who had once been rude to us. We regarded him as a manner of devil, and were always looking round to see if his round-shouldered, blue-shirted figure were in sight. At last the shore was reached, and soon we were all in the clear water, shrieking with delight, paddling about, puffing and blowing like a school of young porpoises.

At high-tide the beach was pebbled; at low-tide we went far out, the ground sloping very gradually, to a delightful place where the bottom was of fine white sand, sparkling as if mixed with diamond dust. Starfish crawled about on it, and other creatures,—crabs, too, sometimes, that would nip an unwary toe if they got a chance. Sometimes the water was full of jelly-fish, which we did not like, in spite of their beauty. Beyond the white sand was a bed of eel-grass, very dreadful, not to be approached. If a person went into it, he was instantly seized and entangled, and drowned before the eyes of his companions. This was our firm belief. It was probably partly due to Andersen’s story of the “Little Sea-Maid,” which had made a deep impression on us all, with its clutching polyps and other submarine terrors.

We all learned to swim more or less, but Flossy was the best swimmer.

Sometimes we went to bathe in the afternoon instead of the morning, if the tide suited better. I remember one such time when we came delightfully near having an adventure. It was full moon, and the tide was very high. We had loitered along the beach after our bath, gathering mussels to boil for tea, picking up gold-shells or scallop-shells, and punching seaweed bladders, which pop charmingly if you do them right.

German Mary, the good, stupid nurse who was supposed to be taking care of us, knew nothing about tides; and when we came back to the little creek which we must cross on leaving the beach, lo! the creek was a deep, broad stream, the like of which we had never seen. What was to be done? Valiant Flossy proposed to swim across and get help, but Mary shrieked and would not hear of it, and we all protested that it was impossible. Then we perceived that we must spend the night on the beach; and when we were once accustomed to the idea, it was not without attraction for us. The sand was warm and dry, and full of shells and pleasant things; it was August, and the night would be just cool enough for comfort after the hot day; we had a pailful of blackberries which we had picked on the way down, meaning to eat them during our homeward walk; Julia could tell us stories. Altogether it would be a very pleasant occasion. And then to think of the romance of it! “The Deserted Children!” “Alone on a Sandbank!” “The Watchers of the Tide!” There was no end to the things that could be made out of it. So, though poor Mary wept and wrung her hands, mindful (which I cannot remember that we were) of our mother waiting for us at home, we were all very happy.

The sun went down in golden state. Then, turning to the land, we watched the moon rising, in softer radiance, but no less wonderful and glorious. Slowly the great orb rose, turning from pale gold to purest silver. The sea darkened, and presently a little wind came up, and began to sing with the murmuring waves. We sang, too, some of the old German student-songs which our mother had taught us, and which were our favorite ditties. They rang out merrily over the water:—

or,—

Then Julia told us a story. Perhaps it was the wonderful story of Red-cap,—a boy who met a giant in the forest, and did something to help him, I cannot remember what. Whereupon the grateful giant gave Red-cap a covered silver dish, with a hunter and a hare engraved upon it. When the boy wanted anything he must put the cover on, and ask the hunter and hare to give him what he desired; but there must be a rhyme in the request, else it could not be granted. Red-cap thanked the giant, and as soon as he was alone put the cover on the dish and said,—

Taking off the cover, he found the finest pear that ever was seen, shining like pure gold, with a crimson patch on one side. It was so delicious that it made Red-cap hungry; so he covered the dish again and said:

Off came the cover, and, lo! there was an apple the very smell of which was too good for any one save the truly virtuous. It was so large that it filled the dish, and its flavor was not to be described, so wonderful was it! A third time the happy Red-cap covered his dish, and cried,—

And when he saw the peach he cried out for joy, for it was like the peaches that grew on the crooked tree just by the south door of the greenhouse at Green Peace; and those were the best trees in the garden, and therefore the best in the world.

The trouble about this story is that I never can remember any more of it, and I cannot find the book that contains it. But it must have been about this time that we were hailed from the opposite side of the creek; and presently a boat was run out, and came over to the sand beach and took us off. The people at the Poor Farm, which was on a hill close by, had seen the group of Crusoes and come to our rescue. They greeted us with words of pity (which were quite unnecessary), rowed us to the shore, and then kindly harnessed the farm-horse and drove us home. German Mary was loud in her thanks and expressions of relief; our mother also was grateful to the good people; but from us they received scant and grudging thanks. If they had only minded their own business and let us alone, we could have spent the night on a sandbank. Now it was not likely that we ever should! And, indeed, we never did.