noon
Did we lose our appetite for the delectable dinner-pail through such literal going to pasture ? I think not . Tastes were elastic , in those days ; and Nature , so bullied , durst seldom revolt . On one side , the nearest neighbor to the school lived at least a mile away ; but on the other , the first house of all owned treasures manifold for the little squad who , though the day were wet or dry , fair or frowning , trotted thither at noon . Here were trees under which lay , in happy season , over-ripe Bartlett pears ; here , too , was one mulberry-tree , whereof the suggestion was strange and wonderful , and the fruit less appealing to taste than to a mystical fancy . But outside the bank wall grew the balm-of-Gileads , in a stately , benevolent row , -- trees of healing , of fragrance and romantic charm . No child ever sought the old home to beg pears and mulberries , or to fill the school-house pail at its dark-bosomed well , without bearing away a few of the leaves in a covetous grasp .