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222
A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
22
For
leagues
of
ocean
were
visible
from
the
tiptop
of
the
ledge,
a
tiny
cleft
peak
that
held
always
little
rain-pool
for
thirsty
birds
that
now
and
then
stopped
as
they
flew
over,
to
dip
their
beaks
and
glance
shyly
at
us,
as
if
they
wished
to
share
our
games.
We
could
see
the
steeples
and
smokes
of
Salem
in
the
distance,
and
the
bill,
as
it
descended,
lost
itself
in
mowing
fields
that
slid
again
into
the
river.
Beyond
that
was
Rial
Side
and
Folly
Hill,
and
they
looked
so
very
far
off!
They
called
it
"over
to
Green's"
across
the
river.
I
thought
it
was
because
of
the
thick
growth
of
dark
green
junipers,
that
covered
the
cliff-side
down
to
the
water's
edge;
but
they
were
only
giving
the
name
of
the
farmer
who
owned
the
land,
Whenever
there
was
an
unusual
barking
of
dogs
in
the
distance,
they
said
it
was
"over
to
Green's."
That
barking
of
dogs
made
the
place
seem
very
mysterious
to
me.
Our
lane
ran
parallel
with
the
hill
and
the
mowing
fields,
and
down
our
lane
we
were
always
free
to
go.
It
was
a
genuine
lane,
all
ups
and
downs,
and
too
narrow
for
a
street,
although
at
last
they
have
leveled
it
and
widened
it,
and
made
a
commonplace
thoroughfare
of
it.
I
am
glad
that
my
baby
life
knew
it
in
all
its
queer,
original
irregularities,
for
it
seemed
to
have
a
character
of
its
own,
like
many
of
its
inhabitants,
all
the
more
charming
because
it
was
unlike
anything
but
itself.
The
hill,
too,
is
lost
now,
buried
under
houses.
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