Yet there was enough on every hand to call them away. The soft grey sky and grey water, the deep heavy-green foliage of the banks, and the fine quiet outlines of the further mountains, set off by no brilliant points of light and shade, -- made a picture rare in its kind of beauty. Its colouring was not the cold grey of the autumn, only a soft mellow chastening of summer's gorgeousness. A little ripple on the water, -- a little fleckiness in the cloud, -- a quiet air; it was one of summer's choice days, when she escapes from the sun's fierce watch and sits down to rest herself. But Elizabeth's eyes, if they wavered at all, were called off by some burst of the noisy sociability of the party, in which she deigned not to share. Her cousin, Mr. Herder, Rufus, Asahel, and Winifred, were in full cry after pleasure; and a cheery hunt they made of it. "Miss Elisabet' does look grave at us," said the naturalist, -- "she is the only one wise of us all; she does nothing but read. What are you reading, Miss Elisabet'?" "Something you don't know, Mr. Herder." "O it's only a novel," said her cousin; "she reads nothing but novels." "That's not true, Rose Cadwallader, and you know it." "A novel!" said Mr. Herder. "Ah! -- yes -- that is what the ladies read -- they do not trouble themselves wiz ugly big dictionaries -- they have easy times." He did not mean any reproof; but Elizabeth's cheek coloured exceedingly and for several minutes kept its glow; and though her eyes still held to the book, her mind had lost it. The boat coasted along the shore, down to the head of the bay, where the huckleberry region began; and then drew as close in to the bank as possible. No more was necessary to get at the fruit, for the bushes grew down to the very water's edge and hung over, black with berries, though us Asahel remarked, a great many of them were _blue_. Everybody had baskets, and now the fun was to hold the baskets under and fill them from the overhanging bunches as fast as they could; though in the case of one or two of the party the more summary way of carrying the bushes off bodily seemed to be preferred. "And this is huckle-berry," said Mr. Herder, with a bush in his hand and a berry in his mouth. "Well -- it is sweet -- a little; -- it is not goot for much." "Why Mr. Herder!" said Rose; -- "They make excellent pies, and Mrs. Landholm has promised to make us some, if we get enough." "Pies!" said the naturalist, -- "let us get a great many huckleberry then -- but I am very sorry I shall not be here to eat the pies wiz you. Pull us a little, Wint'rop -- we have picked everything. Stop! -- I see, -- I will get you some pies! --"