110 
to observe the disagreeable odor, for the spiteful 
Ranunculuses had blistered them in a moment. 
Stooping to pick up her bonnet, she saw sweet 
little Trillium Cernuum bending her white corolla 
under her three-leaved mantle, trembling, but not 
with a guilty conscience. She smiled when Mary 
did, but she was too much agitated to speak till 
Mary said, “good morning.” There was some¬ 
thing in her triune form that riveted the little girl’s 
attention, though she had never been told that this 
was the magic number which was fabled to find 
an answering chord in the fair proportions of the 
human soul. 
“ I generally live in the thicket,” said Cernuum, 
“ but the trees have been cut down since I was 
here last. My cousin Pictum, who lives on the 
mountain, can best tell you about us all; she wears 
a white and purple robe turned over at the edge, 
