However, Jack proved to be a good weather prophet; for when they woke up the following morning, rain was falling steadily, and the snow looked soft and dirty. That was the beginning of the break-up of winter. Each day the sun rose higher and its rays became warmer; and each day more of the snow melted, softening the ground and filling streams, large and small, to the very brim.
The winds were softer and warmer; the birds returned and began looking for home sites; and the air was alive with their calls. From the new green of the marshes came the continuous croaking of frogs. Then the first wild flowers slipped quietly into bloom; the fruit trees pushed out bud after bud until they were covered with fragrant blossoms. Nova Scotia had come to active life again after the hard winter.
The day Priscilla brought in a cluster of arbutus, there was a general rejoicing. The delicate pink blossom is greatly prized by the people of Nova Scotia, and has been made the national flower.
“The darlings!” cried Desiré, holding the tiny flowers close to her nose in order to inhale their dainty fragrance.
“Up in the woods of Prince Edward Island the Indians will be very busy now that the Mayflower—for that is the other name for arbutus—has come,” observed Jack.
“Why?” asked Priscilla, putting her bouquet carefully in water.
“As soon as the flowers appear, the young Indian braves search carefully for the finest specimens they can find to throw at the woman they want to marry. It is one of their regular customs; so you can imagine how excited the maidens are at this time of the year.”
“What a pretty custom,” said Desiré; but the practical, unromantic Priscilla thought it very funny, and so expressed herself as she placed the vase in the center of the table.
“And where are the Indians?” demanded René.
“Nowhere near here; so don’t go looking for them,” ordered his brother.