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 th