They passed cultivated farms.  Inside many of the rail fences, inclosing fields of grain or clover, were planted numberless sour cherry trees, snowy with bloom, the ground underneath white with fallen petals.  The air was sweet with the perfume of the half-opened buds on the apple trees in the near-by orchards and rose-like pink blossoms of the “flowering” crab-apple, in the door yards.  Swiftly they drove through cool, green, leafy woods, crossing a wooden bridge spanning a small stream, so shallow that the stones at the bottom were plainly to be seen.  A loud splash, as the sound of carriage wheels broke the uninterrupted silence, and a commotion in the water gave evidence of the sudden disappearance of several green-backed frogs, sunning themselves on a large, moss-grown rock, projecting above the water’s edge; from shady nooks and crevices peeped clusters of early white violets; graceful maidenhair ferns, and hardier members of the fern family, called “Brake,” uncurled their graceful, sturdy fronds from the carpet of green moss and lichen at the base of tree trunks, growing along the water’s edge.  Partly hidden by rocks along the bank of the stream, nestled a few belated cup-shaped anemones or “Wind Flowers,” from which most of the petals had blown, they being one of the earliest messengers of Spring.  Through the undergrowth in the woods, in passing, could be seen the small buds of the azalea or wild honeysuckle, “Sheep’s Laurel,” the deep pink buds on the American Judas tree, trailing vines of “Tea Berry,” and beneath dead leaves one caught an occasional glimpse of fragrant, pink arbutus.  In marshy places beside the creek, swaying in the wind from slender stems, grew straw-colored, bell-shaped blossoms of “Adder’s Tongue” or “Dog Tooth Violet,” with their mottled green, spike-shaped leaves.  In the shadow of a large rock grew dwarf huckleberry bushes, wild strawberry vines, and among grasses of many varieties grew patches of white and pink-tinted Alsatian clover.

Leaving behind the spicy, fragrant, “woodsy” smell of wintergreen, birch and sassafras, and the faint, sweet scent of the creamy, wax-like blossoms of “Mandrake” or May apple, peeping from beneath large, umbrella-like, green leaves they emerged at last from the dim, cool shadows of the woods into the warm, bright sunlight again.

Almost before Mary realized it, the farm house could be seen in the distance, and her Uncle called her attention to his new, red barn, which had been built since her last visit to the farm, and which, in her Uncle’s estimation, was of much greater importance than the house.

Mary greeted with pleasure the old landmarks so familiar to her on former visits.  They passed the small, stone school house at the crossroads, and in a short time the horses turned obediently into the lane leading to the barn a country lane in very truth, a tangle of blackberry vines, wild rose bushes, by farmers called “Pasture Roses,” interwoven with bushes of sumach, wild carrots and golden rod.