“Now, Emily and Edwin, bring your little stools close by me, and Charlie shall climb into my lap, and we will have a good gossip over this bright fire.”
Emily.—“O that will be so nice, mama! I do love a gossip; and what shall we talk about?”
Edwin.—“Let us talk about next summer; I am so fond of next summer, because then there will be fruit and flowers and young birds.”
“Well, suppose we begin by talking about last summer, because we know most about it. So first Emily shall talk about the fruit, and then Edwin about the flowers; and I will talk about the young birds, which are the three things you are so fond of. So what have you to say about the fruit, Emily?”
“O do you remember how we used to go every day for such a long time to peep at the strawberry-beds, because Edwin did not recollect even what a ripe strawberry was like, and I wanted to show him the first; but the tiresome flowers staid on so long, that I scolded them, though they looked so white and pretty; and then they seemed to laugh in my face with their little saucy yellow eyes; and when at last they did drop off, there were only little hard green heads, that looked as if they never could be ripe, never could be soft and red and juicy. Well, but then it rained for two whole days, and the next morning, though the sun was very hot indeed, the grass was so wet that we could not run across the lawn to the fruit-garden. But the day after, mama said, ‘Now, Emily and Edwin, you may go and peep at the strawberry-beds.’ So we ran away hand in hand, and then—ah, ah, Mr. Eddie! I see you remember what we found, for your eyes sparkle, and you open your little mouth just as you did when I popped the first ripe strawberry into it.”
Edwin.—“Yes, Emmie, and how long I hunted for one for you, and lifted up every leaf, but there was not one more ripe, and I had eaten mine quite, quite up; but you said, ‘Never mind, for I am old enough to remember how they taste.’”
Emily.—“And it would indeed have been silly to have minded, for the next day there was one for each of us, and the day after a great many; and the day after that, mama let us fill our little basket to surprise old nurse with a treat at our tea-time.—O when will it be summer again?”
Edwin.—“It will be Charles’s turn to be feasted now instead of me; for, poor little boy, he only knows about oranges and figs and sweetmeats, and perhaps remembers a very little about grapes and peaches and morella cherries.”
“But I think, Edwin, by poor Charlie’s face, he does not seem to consider the things you have just mentioned quite so worthless as you suppose, or that he would be so very much to be pitied if he never saw any other fruit at all.”
Emily.—“O! but then, mama, that is because he does now know what a ripe strawberry is. It is not that a strawberry tastes only of strawberry, but that it tastes of summer all over.—O sweet summer! when will you come again?”