120 THE JOY OF GARDENS 



mass of sunny yellow painted against a clump of dark 

 witch-hazel hints that it may be there to-day. In a cer- 

 tain opening in the grove the evening primroses kept com- 

 pany all by themselves. No blossom had a clearer yellow 

 or a daintier structure. In the fence corners the more ple- 

 beian assemble among the tall grass the coarse cone flow- 

 ers, some gaillardias, and spikes of warm blue vervain and 

 Indian clover and wild parsnip. 



From this fence corner one can look down the creek, 

 where grew the cowslips of young days. A warm March 

 afternoon, when the first blush of green was stealing 

 across the meadow, the discovery of the cowslip was re- 

 corded. A shallow black pool covered the bog, and in the 

 midst of the blackness were leaves of tender green and 

 golden-cupped flowers which seemed to have stolen their 

 sheen from the gold of the springtide. The long stems 

 twined in wreaths and cowslip balls for they were cow- 

 slips according to the old botany book. 



It was a never-to-be-forgotten event the golden hour 

 of cowslip acquaintance. It was fairy gold, however, for 

 it vanished when the child with the old botany book 

 found that, according to another flower-namer, this "cow- 

 slip" was a marsh marigold, and the primula veris, the 

 "primrose" of her affections, was in reality the cowslip of 

 correct classification. A stubborn affection retained the 

 primrose on the river's brim a primrose ever, and the 

 cowslip the yellow of marsh marigold. The old botany 



