She had been even
more interested in the unfolding of the leaf-buds than in the flowering
of the trees, and the gradual advance of the foliage, like a tinted
cloud, up the mountain-slopes, was something she never tired of watching.
When she spoke of this one day to Webb, he replied:
"I have often wondered that more is not said and written about our spring
foliage, before it passes into its general hue of green. To me it has a
more delicate beauty and charm than anything seen in October. Different
trees have their distinct coloring now as then, but it is evanescent, and
the shades usually are less clearly marked. This very fact, however,
teaches the eye to have a nicety of distinction that is pleasing."
The busy days passed quickly on. The blossoms faded from the trees, and
the miniature fruit was soon apparent. The strawberry rows, that had been
like lines of snow, were now full of little promising cones. The grass
grew so lusty and strong that the dandelions were hidden except as the
breeze caught up the winged seeds that the tuneful yellow-birds often
seized in the air. The rye had almost reached its height, and Johnnie
said it was "as good as going to the ocean to see it wave." At last the
swelling buds on the rose-bushes proclaimed the advent of June.
CHAPTER XXXI
JUNE AND HONEY-BEES
It is said that there is no heaven anywhere for those incapable of
recognizing and enjoying it.
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