We had a garden, and our favourite path through it was the portage leading around the falls. We travelled it very frequently, ****** an excuse of idle errands to the steamboat-landing on the lake, and sauntering along the trail as if school were out and would never keep again. It was the season of fruits rather than of flowers.
Nature was reducing the decorations of her table to make room for the banquet. She offered us berries instead of blossoms.
