m 
HOUSE AND GARDEN 
mas rose. We loved these dowers that bloomed defiantly 
in the face of the frost king, and how like conquerors we 
felt as we carried them in from the ice and snow ! Another 
joy was in finding the berries on a cold, winter's day, still 
clinging to the barberry bushes, the high-bush cranberries 
and the snow berries. No wonder the birds came often to 
the garden, even in winter, where they found such good 
things to eat. 
When the March days came we watched for the first snow¬ 
drops. Brave little things! They pushed their way up 
through the frozen ground, each one covered with a little 
cap to protect it from the cold. 
Then came the crocus blossoms, all in purple, white and 
gold; and soon, best of all, the lovely, blue scillas, with the 
real fragrance of spring, and the rock cress. Were ever 
bouquets prettier than those we made of these two flowers 
and took to school for our favorite teachers? 
Grape hyacinths came next, and the dear little row of 
hepaticas that Grandmother had brought from the woods 
years ago sent up their sweet blossoms. They always 
nodded to us as we passed, and Grandmother had no rest 
after the first one blossomed, for then we felt the call of the 
woods and begged for the day when we could go and pick 
all we wished. 
Spring was full of gladness in this garden, for there was 
always something coming into bloom, and we knew just 
where to look for the different things. Grandmother had 
taught us, and we grew to love the flowers almost as well 
as she did. 
Sometimes we would go out with Grandmother in the 
early spring, and she would take a stick and poke carefully 
among the leaves to see if the different things had started to 
grow. Often we would find little buds just waiting for a 
warm day to help them burst into bloom, when they 
would come to us again with the same sweet frangrance and 
freshness. 
“God does not send us strange flowers every year. 
When the spring winds blow o’er the pleasant places, 
The same dear things lift up the same fair faces. 
The violet is here. 
It all comes back; the odor, grace and hue, 
Each sweet relation of its life repeated; 
No blank is left, no looking for is cheated; 
It is the thing we knew.” 
Down by the porch in the south sunshine grew the white 
violets. In April the ground was white with their blossoms 
and their fragrance greeted even the people who were pass¬ 
ing on the street. 
We were never so much interested in the front yard, 
where the more formal things grew, and Grandmother never 
encouraged our becoming intimate with that part of the 
garden. We peeped through the lattice at the snowball and 
barberry bushes, the bleeding heart and the crown imperial 
lily. Sometimes we did beg permission to step in through 
the lattice gate to pick a few of these forbidden flowers 
that would help us in some of our games or in our house- 
frit 
The playhouse was out under the apple trees. 
Never was there more wonderful housekeeping nor more varied and original meals, 
everything, even to clothing and adornment 
The garden furnished — 
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