"Why, yes, it is a primrose. We should know what a primrose was like better by this than by the dried ones. Why, aunt! you have painted a whole lot of them growing just as they do grow."
"Yes; I like, if I can, to paint the flowers in their natural places, besides taking a single flower and painting it the size of life. Look at that wild rose-bush mixed with bramble in that piece of hedge; underneath it I have painted a small spray of roses and buds."
"What is that pretty little flower?" asked Annie; "I don't remember ever having seen one like it."
"It is the wood-sorrel; a very lovely little thing it is too. It is common in woods and shady places; but the flowers are almost over now."
"We have some roots of it in the shrubbery, and I saw one flower in bloom there this morning," said Katey.
"Well, you may all go and look at it, if you like." So the children scampered away to look at the small pale, drooping flower.
"What pretty leaves it has!" said Mary. "I have brought one with me; it looks like a cluster of leaves in one."
"Yes; the bright, transparent leaves and stems are very delicate. These leaves will frequently fold up, if knocked, like the leaves of a sensitive plant. You can look for a plant in the woods and try it. The leaves, too, have a very acid taste."
"I see a violet root. I like violets because of their sweet smell," said Annie.
"I like what are called dog-violets too," said her aunt. "They have no smell at all, but they grow all the summer through, in hedges and in grass, in such large quantities that the turf often looks like an embroidered carpet.