From that day forward, for weeks, it seemed as if we entered on a diet of strawberries and roses.  The old-fashioned bushes of the latter, near the house, had been well trimmed, and gave large, fine buds in consequence, while Mousie, Winnie, and Bobsey gleaned every wild berry that could be found, beginning with the sunny upland slopes and following the aromatic fruit down to the cool, moist borders of the creek.

“Another year,” I said, “I think you will be tired even of strawberries, for we shall have to pick early and late.”

CHAPTER XXXI

NATURE SMILES AND HELPS

The Saturday evening which brought us almost to the middle of June was welcomed indeed.  The days preceding had been filled with hard, yet successful labor, and the weeds had been slaughtered by the million.  The greater part of our crops had come up well and were growing nicely.  In hoeing the corn, we had planted over the few missing hills, and now, like soldiers who had won the first great success of the campaign, we were in a mood to enjoy a rest to the utmost.

This rest seemed all the more delightful when we awoke on the following morning, to the soft patter of rain.  The preceding days had been unusually dry and warm, so that the grass and tender vegetables were beginning to suffer.  I was worrying about the raspberries also, which were passing out of blossom.  The cultivator had been through them, and Merton and I, only the evening before, had finished hoeing out the sprouting weeds and surplus suckers.  I had observed, with dread, that just as the fruit was forming, the earth, especially around the hills, was getting dry.

Now, looking out, I saw that the needful watering was not coming from a passing shower.  The clouds were leaden from horizon to horizon; the rain fell with a gentle steadiness of a quiet summer storm, and had evidently been falling some hours already.  The air was so fragrant that I threw wide open the door and windows.  It was a true June incense, such as no art could distil, and when, at last, we all sat down to breakfast, of which crisp radishes taken a few moments before from our own garden formed a part, we felt that nature was carrying on our work of the past week in a way that filled our hearts with gratitude.  The air was so warm that we did not fear the dampness.  The door and windows were left open that we might enjoy the delicious odors and listen to the musical patter of the rain, which fell so softly that the birds were quite as tuneful as on other days.

The children joined me in the porch, and my wife came out laughing, and put her hand on my shoulder as she said, “You are not through with July and August yet.”

Mousie held her hands out in the warm rain, saying:  “I feel as if it would make me grow, too.  Look at the green cherries up there, bobbing as the drops hit them.”

“Rain isn’t good for chickens,” Winnie remarked, doubtfully.