n early hour and transported in tight little
bunches in dirty little fists to those of the neighbors whose spring
flowers had failed to open at such an early date. In spite of what
seemed an open neglect, the Poteet flowers were always more prolific
and advanced than any others along the Road, much to the pride of the
equally prolific and spring-blooming Mrs. Poteet. And in a spirit of
nature's accord the white poet's narcissus showed starry flowers to
the early sun in the greatest abundance along the Poteet fence that
bordered on the Rucker yard. They peeped through the pickets, and who
knows what challenge they flung to the poetic soul of Mr. Caleb Rucker
as he sat on the side porch with his stockinged feet up on a chair and
his nose tilted to an angle of ecstatic inhalation?

Down at the Plunketts the early wistaria vine that garlanded the front
porch hung thick with long purple clusters which dropped continually
little bouquets of single blossoms with perfect impartiality on the
head of widow and maid, as the compromise of entertaining both young
Bob and Mr. Crabtree at the same time was carried out by Louisa Helen.
And often with the most absolute unconsciousness the demure little
widow allowed herself to be drawn by the wily Mr. Crabtree into the
mystic circle of three, which was instantly on her appearance
dissolved into clumps of two. And if the prodigal vine showered
blessings down upon a pair of clasped hands hid beside Louisa Helen's
fluffy pink muslin skirts nobody was the wiser, except perhaps Mr.
Crabtree.

And perched on the side of the hill the Briars found itself in a
perfect avalanche of blossoms. The snowballs hung white and heavy from
long branches, and gorgeous lilac boughs bent and swayed in the wind.
A clump of bridal wreath by the front gate was a great white drift
against the new green of a crimson-starred burning bush, while over it
all trailed the perfume-laden honeysuckle which bowered the front
porch, decorated trellis and trees and finally flung its blossoms down
the hill to well-nigh cloister Rose Mary's milk-house.

One balmy afternoon Everett brushed aside a spray of the pink and
white blossoms and stood in the stone doorway with his prospecting
kit in his hands. Rose Mary lifted quick welcoming eyes to his and
went on with her work with bowl and paddle. Everett had some time
since got to the point where it was well-nigh impossible for him to
look directly into Rose Mary's deep eyes,