“Oh, no, mother.  It is all sure.  We have leased the house for one year; and we can’t move in until our furniture comes, of course.  But I do long to see what the place is like, don’t you?” replied Mercy, pleadingly.

“No, no, child.  Time enough when we move in.  ’T ain’t going to make any odds what it’s like.  We’re goin’ to live in it, anyhow.  You jest go by yourself, ef you want to so much, an’ let me set right here.  It don’t seem to me ‘s I’ll ever want to git out o’ this chair.”  At last, very unwillingly, late in the afternoon, Mercy went, leaving her mother alone in the hotel.

Without asking a question of anybody, she turned resolutely to the north.

“Even if our house is not on this street,” she said to herself, “I am going to see those lovely woods;” and she walked swiftly up the hill, with her eyes fixed on the glowing dome of scarlet and yellow leaves which crowned it.  The trees were in their full autumnal splendor:  maples, crimson, scarlet, and yellow; chestnuts, pale green and yellow; beeches, shining golden brown; and sumacs in fiery spikes, brighter than all the rest.  There were also tall pines here and there in the grove, and their green furnished a fine dark background for the gay colors.  Mercy had often read of the glories of autumn in New England’s thickly wooded regions; but she had never dreamed that it could be so beautiful as this.  Rows of young maples lined the street which led up to this wooded hill.  Each tree seemed a full sheaf of glittering color; and yet the path below was strewn thick with fallen leaves no less bright.  Mercy walked lingeringly, each moment stopping to pick up some new leaf which seemed brighter than all the rest.  In a very short time, her hands were too full; and in despair, like an over-laden child, she began to scatter them along the way.  She was so absorbed in her delight in the leaves that she hardly looked at the houses on either hand, except to note with an unconscious satisfaction that they were growing fewer and farther apart, and that every thing looked more like country and less like town than it had done in the neighborhood of the hotel.

Presently she came to a stretch of stone wall, partly broken down, in front of an old orchard whose trees were gnarled and moss-grown.  Blackberry-vines had flung themselves over this wall, in and out among the stones.  The leaves of these vines were almost as brilliant as the leaves of the maple-trees.  They were of all shades of red, up to the deepest claret; they were of light green, shading into yellow, and curiously mottled with tiny points of red; all these shades and colors sometimes being seen upon one long runner.  The effect of these wreaths and tangles of color upon the old, gray stones was so fine that Mercy stood still and involuntarily exclaimed aloud.  Then she picked a few of the most beautiful vines, and, climbing up on the wall, sat down to arrange them with the maple-leaves she had already gathered.