"'Now wouldn't you think it was enough to have a strawberry tastin' like it does? But here it is, the prettiest color in the world, pretty as any rose, and, besides that, smellin' like the sweetest flower that grows.'"
"What is the sweetest flower that grows?" I asked.
"Don't ask me such a question as that," said Aunt Jane with emphasis. "Every one's the sweetest while I'm smellin' it. But when Parson Page talked about the sweetest flower, he meant the calycanthus. There's mighty little difference between smellin' a bowl o' strawberries and a handful o' calycanthuses. Yes, the world's full o' sweet things, child, and you don't have to look in gyardens to find 'em, either. They're scattered around everywhere and free for everybody. Jest look yonder in that old fence corner. There's catnip and hoarhound and horsemint and pennyroy'l, and pretty soon there'll be wild life-everlastin'. Yes, it's a mighty sweet world. I'm glad I've lived in it this long, and heaven'll have to be somethin' mighty fine if it's any better'n this old earth. Now hurry up, child, or we won't have time to see the town sights before dark comes."
Within a mile of town I noticed a house barely visible at the end of an avenue so long that it made me think of the "lane that knows no turning."
"What house is that?" I asked.
Aunt Jane's eyes twinkled. "That's the house that was a weddin' fee," she said mysteriously.
"A wedding fee?" I echoed doubtfully.
"A weddin' fee," repeated Aunt Jane. "But don't ask me any questions about it now, for there ain't time to tell it before we git to town."
"But you'll tell it on the way back?" I urged eagerly.
"Yes, child, yes. But hurry up now. I don't believe you care whether we git to town or not."