while John and his comrades went to the brook and began to dig a canal, to turn the water into the residence of the woodchuck.  This was often a difficult feat of engineering, and a long job.  Often it took more than half a day of hard labor with shovel and hoe to dig the canal.  But when the canal was finished and the water began to pour into the hole, the excitement began.  How long would it take to fill the hole and drown out the woodchuck?  Sometimes it seemed as if the hole was a bottomless pit.  But sooner or later the water would rise in it, and then there was sure to be seen the nose of the woodchuck, keeping itself on a level with the rising flood.  It was piteous to see the anxious look of the hunted, half-drowned creature as—­it came to the surface and caught sight of the dog.  There the dog stood, at the mouth of the hole, quivering with excitement from his nose to the tip of his tail, and behind him were the cruel boys dancing with joy and setting the dog on.  The poor creature would disappear in the water in terror; but he must breathe, and out would come his nose again, nearer the dog each time.  At last the water ran out of the hole as well as in, and the soaked beast came with it, and made a desperate rush.  But in a trice the dog had him, and the boys stood off in a circle, with stones in their hands, to see what they called “fair play.”  They maintained perfect “neutrality” so long as the dog was getting the best of the woodchuck; but if the latter was likely to escape, they “interfered” in the interest of peace and the “balance of power,” and killed the woodchuck.  This is a boy’s notion of justice; of course, he’d no business to be a woodchuck,—­an—­unspeakable woodchuck.

I used the word “aromatic” in relation to the New England soil.  John knew very well all its sweet, aromatic, pungent, and medicinal products, and liked to search for the scented herbs and the wild fruits and exquisite flowers; but he did not then know, and few do know, that there is no part of the globe where the subtle chemistry of the earth produces more that is agreeable to the senses than a New England hill-pasture and the green meadow at its foot.  The poets have succeeded in turning our attention from it to the comparatively barren Orient as the land of sweet-smelling spices and odorous gums.  And it is indeed a constant surprise that this poor and stony soil elaborates and grows so many delicate and aromatic products.

John, it is true, did not care much for anything that did not appeal to his taste and smell and delight in brilliant color; and he trod down the exquisite ferns and the wonderful mosses—­without compunction.  But he gathered from the crevices of the rocks the columbine and the eglantine and the blue harebell; he picked the high-flavored alpine strawberry, the blueberry, the boxberry, wild currants and gooseberries, and fox-grapes; he brought home armfuls of the pink-and-white laurel and the wild honeysuckle; he dug the roots of the fragrant sassafras and of