Читать книгу Birds and Nature Vol. 11 No. 3 [March 1902] - Various - Страница 6

The one delight of Grace Newton’s life was to visit Aunt Chatty White. Winter or summer, autumn or spring – no matter what the season nor how bright or how gloomy the weather – there was sure to be found some unusually fascinating pleasure or employment. There were books of every description with which to while away the winter days. And in summer the trees were full of fruit, the yard with flowers, the fields and garden with good things, while the birds saucily claimed possession of all.

But when she was told by Mamma that she should open Easter with Aunt Chatty her heart was a-flutter with a joy not known before. Easter – her first away from home! And she was sure that there would be presents, and new books to read, and new stories to hear, and rabbits’ nests to visit, and – well, it would be the gladdest Easter of her life, she was certain.

It was Good Friday when she arrived at her aunt’s quiet country home. The winter was dying away and spring was making itself known and felt, while a few birds were venturing to sing of summer’s return. The buds were swelling, the lawns and meadows were becoming green, and in the woods Grace was sure she could find, should she try, a violet, a bloodroot bloom, or a dainty snowdrop. For these were the first flowers, and sometimes appeared, her mother told her, before the snow was fairly gone.

A surprise awaited her, however; for, as she was wandering aimlessly about the garden borders that afternoon, she suddenly came upon a bed of golden buds and blossoms. After gazing at them a few moments to make sure she was not dreaming, she hastened away to Aunt Chatty for an explanation.

“Why, dearie, those are Easter flowers,” laughed her aunt.

“But I thought Easter lilies were white.”

“Not all of them. I have some white ones – in another part of the garden. Those you saw are daffodils and jonquils.”

“John – who?” queried Grace, in astonishment.

“Jonquils,” repeated Mrs. White, amused not a little at Grace’s ignorance and wonder. “Come! I’ll show you which is which.”

Grace ran on ahead, and was minutely inspecting the tender young blossoms when her aunt arrived.

“The large double yellow ones are daffodils. Those across yonder are the white ones. Wait!” she called, for the impatient child had already started toward the bed of more familiar lilies. “Here are the jonquils – these with cups. Really the name for these, both the yellow and the white, is Narcissus. Presently I’ll tell you how they came to have that name. There are twenty or thirty kinds, but the most perfect forms grow in Europe and Japan. Cultivation has done a great deal for the Narcissus, both in this and other countries, but these of mine are but the old-fashioned sort that grandmother planted here. Now let’s go see the white ones. Will they be in full bloom for Easter?”

“Yes,” replied Grace. “See, here are two now. Mamma has this kind,” and she fondled the snowy blossoms as though they were friends of long standing.