"What you see. Huge sunflowers, and reeds, and grasses--it's very damp in the middle--and briers and wild roses, blackberries, great weeds and bushes, dock and tall mullein, and up on that side where the ground rises a little towards the lower terrace, there used to be a garden--where you see the asparagus gone to seed." "But it's a _real_ wilderness?" asked the boy, radiant. "I should say so." "Snakes, too?" "I shouldn't wonder." His heart beat hard. This was a wonderful place to come to for a visit. It was almost a pity one didn't live here. "Are those apple-trees along the bottom of the terrace?" "No, quince. And that one big tree in the middle of the lower plateau is a choke-pear." "Isn't there a vine climbing up?" "Yes. There are grapes down there in the autumn." "How long do you think I can stay?" "We'll see," she said, in a somewhat defiant tone, as they turned to go up the terrace. There were still some "snowballs" on the great guelder rose-bushes, and the waxberries on the little one's gleamed like pearls. "I like this place," said the child, suddenly. "That's right, my dear." They were up on the level of the house now, past the long veranda with the banned black benches. It was growing dusk, a time that under all conditions of this child's life made rude test of cheer. He drew nearer to the tall, bent figure. She dropped his hand, and stooped over the edge of clovered grass. "What is it?" he asked, as she stood upright with something in her hand. "A four-leaved clover--the third I've found to-day." "Oh, do you think there are any more?" He knelt down and examined the clump. "You may have this," she said, presently, "and we'll come and look to-morrow, when we have a better light." "Oh, thank you." He held the clover carefully, thinking of the fairy-tale. Now they were passing the great, perfectly straight tulip-tree, that went up and up like a ship's mast before the far-away boughs soared out into the dim depths of evening air. A light breeze had risen. A bird high up in the proudly waving branches twittered faintly. Except for that, a hush was over the world; but in the child's heart there was a mysterious sense of tumult, one of those periodic waves of excitement that rush over sensitive young creatures, along with the vague consciousness of the wonder of this strange thing, life, that is opening out before their thrilling senses. Ethan stood looking up till a kind of delicious dizziness seized him, and he leaned his head lightly against his grandmother's arm. She smiled down into his eyes, saying never a word, but when they went in-doors there was understanding between them.