Its companion was the tiny four-cleft innocence-flower, that
drifted pale sky-tints across the chilly fields. Both came to us
in crowds, and looked out with us, as they do with the small
girls and boys of to-day, from the windy crest of Powder House
Hill,--the one playground of my childhood which is left to the
children and the cows just as it was then. We loved these little
democratic blossoms, that gathered around us in mobs at our May
Day rejoicings. It is doubtful whether we should have loved the
trailing arbutus any better, had it strayed, as it never did,
into our woods.
Violets and anemones played at hide-and-seek with us in shady
places. The gay columbine rooted herself among the bleak rocks,
and laughed and nodded in the face of the east wind, coquettishly
wasting the show of her finery on the frowning air. Bluebirds
twittered over the dandelions in spring. In midsummer,
goldfinches warbled among the thistle-tops; and, high above the
bird-congregations, the song-sparrow sent forth her clear, warm,
penetrating trill,--sunshine translated into music.
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