Explore "Five Hundred Dollars" by Heman White Chaplin on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
No one fully knows the New England autumn who has not seen its colors on the extreme Old Colony sea-board. There are no mountain ranges, opening out far reaches of burning maples; but there are miles of salt-marsh, spreading as far as the eye can reach, cut by countless creeks, displaying a vast expanse of soft, rich shades of brown; there are cranberry-meadows of twenty, thirty, or fifty level acres, covered with matted vines and crimson with berries; there are deserted pastures, bright with golden-rod and asters. And everywhere along the shores, against the dark pine woods, are the varied reds of oaks, of blackberry vines, of woodbine, and of sumach.
It was a bright fall afternoon; most of the boats were in, and lay near, shore before the sail-loft door; the sails were up to dry, -- for it had been wet outside, -- looking doubly white against the colors of the shore.