Mary insisted that her Uncle drive directly to the barn, as was his usual custom, while she was warmly welcomed at the farm house gate by her Aunt.  As her Uncle led away the horses, he said, “I will soon join you, Mary, ‘to break of our bread and eat of our salt,’ as they say in the ‘Shrine.’”

On their way to the house, Mary remarked:  “I am so glad we reached here before dusk.  The country is simply beautiful!  Have you ever noticed, Aunt Sarah, what a symphony in green is the yard?  Look at the buds on the maples and lilacs—­a faint yellow green—­and the blue-green pine tree near by; the leaves of the German iris are another shade; the grass, dotted with yellow dandelions, and blue violets; the straight, grim, reddish-brown stalks of the peonies before the leaves have unfolded, all roofed over with the blossom-covered branches of pear, apple and ‘German Prune’ trees.  Truly, this must resemble Paradise!”

“Yes,” assented her Aunt, “I never knew blossoms to remain on the pear trees so long a time.  We have had no ‘blossom shower’ as yet to scatter them, but there will be showers tonight, I think, or I am no prophet.  I feel rain in the atmosphere, and Sibylla said a few moments ago she heard a ‘rain bird’ in the mulberry tree.”

“Aunt Sarah,” inquired Mary, “is the rhubarb large enough to use?”

“Yes, indeed, we have baked rhubarb pies and have had a surfeit of dandelion salad or ‘Salat,’ as our neighbors designate it.  Your Uncle calls ‘dandelion greens’ the farmers’ spring tonic; that and ‘celadine,’ that plant you see growing by the side of the house.  Later in the season it bears small, yellow flowers not unlike a very small buttercup blossom, and it is said to be an excellent remedy for chills and fevers, and it tastes almost as bitter as quinine.  There are bushels of dandelion blossoms, some of which we shall pick tomorrow, and from them make dandelion wine.”

“And what use will my thrifty Aunt make of the blue violets?” mischievously inquired Mary.

“The violets,” replied her Aunt, “I shall dig up carefully with some earth adhering to their roots and place them in a glass bowl for a centrepiece on the table for my artistic and beauty-loving niece; and if kept moist, you will be surprised at the length of time they will remain ‘a thing of beauty’ if not ‘a joy forever.’  And later, Mary, from them I’ll teach you to make violet beads.”

“Aunt Sarah, notice that large robin endeavoring to pull a worm from the ground.  Do you suppose the same birds return here from the South every Summer?”

“Certainty, I do.”

“That old mulberry tree, from the berries of which you made such delicious pies and marmalade last Summer, is it dead?”

“No; only late about getting its Spring outfit of leaves.”

CHAPTER III.

Schuggenhaus township.