A family of children discover an undisturbed field full of mosses and wildflowers, spend long summer days deeply embedded there with their dog, and find a way to pay for the dog licence so they can keep him.
This is a timeless classic, which I read as a child, and, it turns out, have remembered for decades. It is full of forensically detailed natural history, interwoven with playful activity: “sometimes I was a moss-merchant, for there were ten different kinds of moss by the brook, and sometimes I was a jeweller, and sold daisy-chains and pebbles, and coral sets made of holly berries, and oak-apple necklaces; and sometimes I kept provisions, like earth-nuts and mallow-cheeses, and mushrooms; and sometimes I kept a flower-shop, and sold nosegays and wreaths, and umbrellas made of rushes…”
Old-fashioned without being preachy, and especially appealing for those who like stories of families or groups of children, this little gem of a story holds its own magnificently amongst our contemporary enthusiasm for nature writing.
First published 1876. Picked by Clara Abrahams
A Personal Anthology 