“No,” said John; “that is another mistake. The Spaniards happened to land here during the Easter season, which they call Pascua Florida, the flowery Passover, on account of the palms with which their churches are decorated at that time; and so they named the country from the festival, and not from the flowers at all. There is not one word said about flowers in all their voluminous old records—”
“Don’t be statistical, I beg,” interrupted Eugenio. “And are there no flowers, then?”
“Oh yes,” answered Sara, “little wee blossoms in delicate colors starring over the ground, besides violets and gold-cups; these are the yeomanry. The Cherokee roses, the yellow jasmine, and the Spanish-bayonets, with their sceptres of white blossoms, are the nobility.”
Presently we came out upon the barren, with its single feathery trees, its broad sky-sweep, its clear-water ponds, an endless stretch of desert which was yet no desert, but green and fair. The saw-palmetto grew in patches, and rustled its stiff leaves as we passed.
“I can’t think of any thing but Spanish ladies looking out between the sticks of their fans,” remarked Eugenio.
“That’s just like it,” said Iris, and plucking one of the fan-shaped leaves, she gave the idea a lovely coquettish reality. The Captain murmured something (he had a way of murmuring). What it was we could not hear, but then Iris heard, and blushed very prettily. Mokes took the “other young lady,” the sliced one, and walked on loftily. She went. The truth is, they generally go with three millions.
“There is something about the barrens that always gives me the feeling of being far away,” said Sara.
“The old attraction,” replied Eugenio. “ ‘Over the hills and far away’ is the dream of all imaginative souls. Do you remember
“ ‘Afar in the desert I love to ride,
With the silent Bush-boy alone by my side?’ ”
“ ‘There is a happy land,
Far, far away,’ ”