“Do you think there are any in this field, Philip?” said Ethel.
“You have got me, Ethel. I forget each summer the names of the flowers I learned the summer before. Seems to me Dutchmen’s breeches is an early spring flower.”
“No, I think it comes in the late fall to tell the truth. We’ll look it up.”
She turned to the index, which referred her to the 37th page. Minerva looked over her shoulder in the way she should not have done and no sooner did she see the flower picture than she said,
“Oh, Lawdy, that makes me homesick. I’ve seen that in the park.”
“Oh, surely not,” said Ethel. “Let’s see what it says.”
“Mmmmmm,” she mumbled over the early part of the description and then she came to, ‘The flower when seen explains its two English titles. It is accessible to every New Yorker, for in early April it whitens many of the shaded ledges in the upper part of the Central Park.’ Why, you were right, Minerva. I dare say you know more about such things than I do.”
“Why, Mis. Vernon, I haven’ any grudge aginst country if o’ny city is a few blocks off. My, if I could run down now an’ see my folks I’d bring ’em up here to-morrer. I used to go to the park often my day out, but the city’s all around it an’ up here the country’s so big it—oh, Lawdy, what was that?”
It was a flash of lightning, followed by a clap of thunder that told us a storm was close at hand.
“Ooh, let’s get under the trees,” said Minerva, her face showing abject terror.