Mary at the Farm | Page 5

the bottom were plainly to be seen. A loud splash, as the sound of carriage wheels broke the uninterrupted silence, and a commotion in the water gave evidence of the sudden disappearance of several green-backed frogs, sunning themselves on a large, moss-grown rock, projecting above the water's edge; from shady nooks and crevices peeped clusters of early white violets; graceful maidenhair ferns, and hardier members of the fern family, called "Brake," uncurled their graceful, sturdy fronds from the carpet of green moss and lichen at the base of tree trunks, growing along the water's edge. Partly hidden by rocks along the bank of the stream, nestled a few belated cup-shaped anemones or "Wind Flowers," from which most of the petals had blown, they being one of the earliest messengers of Spring. Through the undergrowth in the woods, in passing, could be seen the small buds of the azalea or wild honeysuckle, "Sheep's Laurel," the deep pink buds on the American Judas tree, trailing vines of "Tea Berry," and beneath dead leaves one caught an occasional glimpse of fragrant, pink arbutus. In marshy places beside the creek, swaying in the wind from slender stems, grew straw-colored, bell-shaped blossoms of "Adder's Tongue" or "Dog Tooth Violet," with their mottled green, spike-shaped leaves. In the shadow of a large rock grew dwarf huckleberry bushes, wild strawberry vines, and among grasses of many varieties grew patches of white and pink-tinted Alsatian clover.
Leaving behind the spicy, fragrant, "woodsy" smell of wintergreen, birch and sassafras, and the faint, sweet scent of the creamy, wax-like blossoms of "Mandrake" or May apple, peeping from beneath large, umbrella-like, green leaves they emerged at last from the dim, cool shadows of the woods into the warm, bright sunlight again.
Almost before Mary realized it, the farm house could be seen in the distance, and her Uncle called her attention to his new, red barn, which had been built since her last visit to the farm, and which, in her Uncle's estimation, was of much greater importance than the house.
Mary greeted with pleasure the old landmarks so familiar to her on former visits. They passed the small, stone school house at the crossroads, and in a short time the horses turned obediently into the lane leading to the barn a country lane in very truth, a tangle of blackberry vines, wild rose bushes, by farmers called "Pasture Roses," interwoven with bushes of sumach, wild carrots and golden rod.
Mary insisted that her Uncle drive directly to the barn, as was his usual custom, while she was warmly welcomed at the farm house gate by her Aunt. As her Uncle led away the horses, he said, "I will soon join you, Mary, 'to break of our bread and eat of our salt,' as they say in the 'Shrine.'"
On their way to the house, Mary remarked: "I am so glad we reached here before dusk. The country is simply beautiful! Have you ever noticed, Aunt Sarah, what a symphony in green is the yard? Look at the buds on the maples and lilacs--a faint yellow green--and the blue-green pine tree near by; the leaves of the German iris are another shade; the grass, dotted with yellow dandelions, and blue violets; the straight, grim, reddish-brown stalks of the peonies before the leaves have unfolded, all roofed over with the blossom-covered branches of pear, apple and 'German Prune' trees. Truly, this must resemble Paradise!"
"Yes," assented her Aunt, "I never knew blossoms to remain on the pear trees so long a time. We have had no 'blossom shower' as yet to scatter them, but there will be showers tonight, I think, or I am no prophet. I feel rain in the atmosphere, and Sibylla said a few moments ago she heard a 'rain bird' in the mulberry tree."
"Aunt Sarah," inquired Mary, "is the rhubarb large enough to use?"
"Yes, indeed, we have baked rhubarb pies and have had a surfeit of dandelion salad or 'Salat,' as our neighbors designate it. Your Uncle calls 'dandelion greens' the farmers' spring tonic; that and 'celadine,' that plant you see growing by the side of the house. Later in the season it bears small, yellow flowers not unlike a very small buttercup blossom, and it is said to be an excellent remedy for chills and fevers, and it tastes almost as bitter as quinine. There are bushels of dandelion blossoms, some of which we shall pick tomorrow, and from them make dandelion wine."
"And what use will my thrifty Aunt make of the blue violets?" mischievously inquired Mary.
"The violets," replied her Aunt, "I shall dig up carefully with some earth adhering to their roots and place them in a glass bowl for a centrepiece on the table for my artistic and beauty-loving niece; and if kept moist, you will be surprised at the length