"Ring-a-ling, ring-a-ling,
We'll be as late as we can this spring,"
sang a columbine.
"We know when to go and when to stay; when to open and when to shut," said a twin-flower.
"Where is Mamma Spring?" inquired the dog-tooth violet.
"On the other side the wood," replied the columbine. "But she can't be interrupted just now. She's very busy cutting out Dutchman's Breeches. There are five hundred pairs to be finished before night."
"All of the same everlasting old pattern," grumbled a trillium.
"But listen; you don't listen," urged the lilac hepatica. "All the children didn't quarrel. My two—the two I liked—were gentle and sweet, and they have a plan—a kind plan—about somebody named Blossom. They want to give her a surprise with flowers and a wreath, and make her Queen of the May, because she is ill and lies in bed. Let us help. I like them; and Blossom is a pretty name."
"Are you quite sure they did not quarrel?" asked the wind-flower, anxiously. "It made me shiver to hear the others."
"No, they didn't quarrel. When the rest would not listen, they moved away and made their little plan in a whisper."
"And what was the plan?" inquired the bloodroot.