226 



THE BROOK BOOK 



to a bank which was white with triUiums. At a 

 Httle distance they looked Hke new fallen snow, but 

 I knew that the rain of yesterday had melted the 

 last snow-bank. 



It began to rain gently and the soft pattering 

 on the dead leaves and forest plants was music to 



my ears. It was in 

 tune with the violets 

 and the trilliums. 

 Together they joined 

 harmoniously in the 

 "natural song of 

 earth." I put my 

 hand down to feel 

 the cool and moist 

 leaves. A hundred 

 fern fronds seemed to 

 reach up and caress 

 my fingers. They 

 were so young, so 

 downy, so delicately 

 pale and refined 

 looking ! They have 

 such a modest droop, 

 as if they would not 

 intrude. Who ever 

 had enough of ferns? 

 From the exquisite maidenhair to the lowly ever- 

 green Christmas fern which any one may have, 

 they are dear to all. They are always the right 

 thing in the right place. But they are best in 

 their native woods, with other woods-folk. 



BLUE VIOLETS 



