It was three miles to the robbers' rendezvous, but what cared we? We dwelt in the bosom of nature, and three miles was but a pastime. We only wanted an excuse of the most feeble kind to start on a tramp, day or night. All along the way we breathed health and vitality; the air was full of singing birds, and our hearts were crying out, "What is so rare as a day in June?" In fact, our June days lasted longer than they did elsewhere--they ran into September, October and November. It is the harmony of our hearts that makes the force of poetry, and not the mere words; and the June feeling may be present in December. The entrance to Muddy Pond woods was on high ground, and as we approached it we were a little cautious, for near by was the appointed place to find the haunt of the robbers. Filing along singly, we peered into the underbush. Lo, and behold, I see it! It is a white thing hanging on a bush! Yes! And listen, I hear voices! It is the robbers! Why, no, these are only children's voices! They are picking berries, the dear things. Poor children! Don't you know that you may be robbed and murdered by some of these infernal rascals who beat innocent men, take their money and come out here into this wilderness and wash the blood off their garments and hang them on these berry bushes to dry? Slowly we approached the white garment. Why, this is only an old white rag that has hung here for months, all mildewed and half rotten. Come, boys, we are sold! What an old goose that fellow was to get us out here for such a thing as this! I am going home! I am hungry! Feelings of disgust and mirth took possession of us. Were these the robbers, and was this the bloody raiment? Ha! ha! There was no use of going further. The exciting problem was solved, and we turned our feet homeward over the hills, across the fields and by stone walls; shying a stone now and then into some gnarled apple tree, just to knock down a wild apple or two, to try if they contained, as Emerson has said of one of them, "a pint of cider and a barrel of wind"; whipping off the heads of the wild daisies with our canes and switches; pulling sprigs of sweet fern and bayberry; mocking the crows and the cat-birds; finding choice flowers, and trying to fill the aching void within us with blackberries and whortleberries, and reaching the farm after the dinner was over. All but one corner of the dining-room was deserted, and there a solitary waiter was placing plates for the "Waiting Group," who had not been served with dinner. The "Waiting Group" was one of the most cheerful, lively, witty and jolly groups on the place. In fact it contained some of the most eminent persons in our midst, and at dinner the waiters were of the masculine gender solely.