CHAPTER XVII 



THE FIRST DAY IN JUNE 



June has come ; only last night we said good-by 

 to May. It is early in the morning, and I think 

 perhaps it is hardly as warm as it was yesterday. 

 Not a single one of the buds in Grandmother's 

 rose garden have come out especially for to-day. 

 The Roses there that are full blown opened on one 

 of the last May days. In the city, I remember 

 hearing that June was the most perfect month in 

 the country, but I am wondering how it can be 

 more beautiful than May. 



I used to think that when June came everything 

 would be changed at once, and that things would 

 be quite different on its first morning from any 

 other morning in the year. I'm sure when I 

 awake Christmas morning that nothing seems at 

 all the same as on other days. But I see now that 

 I must keep my eyes open, as Tommy says, to see 

 why June is more perfect than May. 



This morning I have been up to look at Old 

 Adam. A few Rock Pinks are still there. Wild 

 Geraniums are all about, and the True and the 

 False Solomon's Seals are looking just as they did 

 last week. Poor Robin's Plantain has grown a 



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