BALD-SUMMIT. 223

and would make themselves very comfortable with the
bones from the dinner-table, without ever thinking of the
good times which they and we have had together ! ”

“ What nonsense you are talking!” exclaimed Prim-
rose.

With idle chat of this kind, the party had already begun
to descend the hill and were now within the shadow of
the woods. Primrose gathered some mountain-laurel,
the leaf of which, though of last year’s growth, was still
as verdant and elastic as if the frost and thaw had not
alternately tried their force upon its texture. Of these
twigs of laurel she twined a wreath, and took off the stu-
dent’s cap, in order to place it on his brow.

“Nobody else ts likely to crown you for your stories,”
observed saucy Primrose, “so take this from me.”

“Do not be too sure,” answered Eustace, looking
really like a youthful poet, with the laurel among his glossy
curls, “that I shall not win other wreaths by these won-
derful and admirable stories. I mean to spend all my
leisure, during the rest of the vacation, and throughout
the summer term at college, in writing them out for the
press. Mr. J. T. Fields (with whom I became acquainted
when he was in Berkshire, last summer, and who is a
poet, as well as a publisher) will see their uncommon
merit, at a glance. He will get them illustrated, I hope,
by Billings, and will bring them before the world under
the very best of auspices, through the eminent house of
Trcknor & Co. In about five months from this mo-
ment, I make no doubt of being reckoned among the
lights of the age!”