Mary at the Farm | Page 9

on either side the walk, were
large flower beds, a blaze of brilliant color from early Spring, when the
daffodils blossomed, until frost killed the dahlias, asters, scarlet sage,
sweet Williams, Canterbury bells, pink and white snapdragon, spikes of
perennial, fragrant, white heliotrope; blue larkspur, four o'clocks,
bachelor buttons and many other dear, old-fashioned flowers. The
dainty pink, funnel-shaped blossoms of the hardy swamp "Rose
Mallow'" bloomed the entire Summer, the last flowers to be touched by
frost, vying in beauty with the pink monthly roses planted near by.
Children who visited Aunt Sarah delighted in the small Jerusalem
cherry tree, usually covered with bright, scarlet berries, which was
planted near the veranda, and they never tired pinching the tiny leaves

of the sensitive plant to see them quickly droop, as if dead, then slowly
unfold and straighten as if a thing of life.
Visitors to the farm greatly admired the large, creamy-white lily-like
blossoms of the datura. Farthest from the house were the useful herb
beds, filled with parsley, hoarhound, sweet marjoram, lavender, saffron,
sage, sweet basil, summer savory and silver-striped rosemary or "old
man," as it was commonly called by country folk.
Tall clusters of phlox, a riot of color in midsummer, crimson-eyed,
white and rose-colored blossoms topping the tall steins, and clusters of
brilliant-red bergamot near by had been growing, from time
immemorial, a cluster of green and white-striped grass, without which
no door yard in this section of Bucks County was considered complete
in olden times. Near by, silvery plumes of pampas grass gently swayed
on their reed-like stems. Even the garden was not without splashes of
color, where, between rows of vegetables, grew pale, pink-petaled
poppies, seeming to have scarcely a foothold in the rich soil. But the
daintiest, sweetest bed of all, and the one that Mary enjoyed most, was
where the lilies of the valley grew in the shade near a large, white lilac
bush. Here, on a rustic bench beneath an old apple tree, stitching on her
embroidery, she dreamed happy dreams of her absent lover, and
planned for the life they were to live together some day, in the home he
was striving to earn for her by his own manly exertions; and she
assiduously studied and pondered over Aunt Sarah's teaching and
counsel, knowing them to be wise and good.
A short distance from the farm house, where the old orchard sloped
down to the edge of the brook, grew tall meadow rue, with feathery
clusters of green and white flowers; and the green, gold-lined,
bowl-shaped blossoms of the "Cow Lily," homely stepsisters of the
fragrant, white pond lily, surrounded by thick, waxy, green leaves,
lazily floated on the surface of the water from long stems in the bed of
the creek, and on the bank a carpet was formed by golden-yellow,
creeping buttercups.
In the side yard grew two great clumps of iris, or, as it is more
commonly called, "Blue Flag." Its blossoms, dainty as rare orchids,

with lily-like, violet-veined petals of palest-tinted mauve and purple.
On the sunny side of the old farm house, facing the East, where at early
morn the sun shone bright and warm, grew Aunt Sarah's pansies, with
velvety, red-brown petals, golden-yellow and dark purple. They were
truly "Heart's Ease," gathered with a lavish hand, and sent as gifts to
friends who were ill. The more she picked the faster they multiplied,
and came to many a sick bed "sweet messengers of Spring."
If Aunt Sarah had a preference for one particular flower, 'twas the rose,
and they well repaid the time and care she lavished on them. She had
pale-tinted blush roses, with hearts of deepest pink; rockland and
prairie and hundred-leaf roses, pink and crimson ramblers, but the most
highly-prized roses of her collection were an exquisite, deep
salmon-colored "Marquis De Sinety" and an old-fashioned pink moss
rose, which grew beside a large bush of mock-orange, the creamy
blossoms of the latter almost as fragrant as real orange blossoms of the
sunny Southland. Not far distant, planted in a small bed by themselves,
grew old-fashioned, sweet-scented, double petunias, ragged, ripple,
ruffled corollas of white, with splotches of brilliant crimson and purple,
their slender stems scarcely strong enough to support the heavy
blossoms.
In one of the sunniest spots in the old garden grew Aunt Sarah's latest
acquisition. "The Butterfly Bush," probably so named on account of its
graceful stems, covered with spikes of tiny, lilac-colored blossoms,
over which continually hovered large, gorgeously-hued butterflies,
vying with the flowers in brilliancy of color, from early June until late
Summer.
Aunt Sarah's sunflowers, or "Sonnen Blume," as she liked to call them,
planted along the garden fence to feed chickens and birds alike, were a
sight worth seeing. The birds generally confiscated the larger portion of