CHAPTER XXIX 



WHITE FLOWERS AND A MISCHIEVOUS FAIRY 



Since the day we had the picnic on Old Adam, 

 we have gone in the meadows and along the road- 

 sides when hunting for wild flowers. Most of 

 them now want to be out where the sun is brightest, 

 and perhaps because they also like many people to 

 see them. The little spring flowers that only 

 peeped out in the woods were more shy. We 

 really had to hunt for them. But I still love them 

 and the woods best, even if Kate Hood tries to 

 make me think the larger summer flowers are 

 handsomer. 



I know the vi^oods will not look as they did In 

 early spring again this year. The weeds have 

 grown tall and bold, and the dead, dried leaves 

 that covered the ground so crisply have blown 

 away, and the tiny green ones that looked like 

 crinkled tissue paper when they were unfolding 

 are now so large and thick in the woods that they 

 make it like a dark forest. 



Just as I was thinking about our woods and that 

 there is not a single flower on Old Adam, I remem- 

 bered Francis's story about the Ghost-flower, and 

 thought the time to look for it had come. Grand- 

 mother was taking her nap. I found my hat and 

 ran out in the woods. 



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