File:American cookery (1919) (14773399465).jpg

Identifier: americancookery19unse_4 (find matches)
Title: American cookery
Year: 1914 (1910s)
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Subjects:
Publisher: New York (etc.) : Whitney Publications (etc.)
Contributing Library: Boston Public Library
Digitizing Sponsor: Boston Public Library

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lavor de-lectable from cellar holes, the compan-ions of mulleins and young birches andsoftening hand-carved beams! But if you wish raspberries in largequantities, there is an isolated hill towhich I must refer you, — provided youcan endure the trip to the top throughscratchiest, untrimmed black birches,which fly back and hit you in the eyes. Then you strike the cleared crown ofthe hill. Worth coming just for theview, exclaims the person of whosepleasure at the beginning of the climbyou felt most uneasy. You expand.Here the spirit can soar. The countryspreads away on every side: peaks ofthe White and the Green Mountains,tidy mowings, a lake or two, forests,tiny farms, up and down, down and up,but all a wealth of greenness and love-liness. And when satisfied with thedistant vision, you utter a cry at thecountless red raspberries waiting, likeopportunity, right where you stand. Across the hill top voices call. Vir-ginia toddles over in pink rompers. Sheholds out her half-pint cup. See,
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THERE IS THE BROOK sings the flute-like voice, Ive filled ittwo times already. Good for you, Pink Rompers, youcall back. .Youve picked a wholepint in three hours. Which had you rather do? inquiresanother little voice Hunt birds nestsor go swimming, jr pick raspberries in thehot sun? Oh, Boy! What a hard question?You adroitly turn the subject. Say,wont we have piles of a. : to eat nextwinter. When you eat it, ycu can thinkof the hill near, the sunshine and skywhere we picked the berries. No, Pink Rompers shakes her headand pronounces in matter-of-fact tone,I shall think how we picked them inRoxbury. What time do you think it is? Boyasks again. Bv the sun I should judge it must be12.30. 14 AMERICAN COOKERY Boy considers that a while. I cantell the time by the wind, he muses. But that is not necessary. Just thena hearty voice summons all the berrypickers to the top of the hill. Boy imme-diately forgets the birds-nest hunting;regardless of briers, his brown legs racethrough the bushes. We

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