"Across the little covered bridge," just as her mother had said, "about a quarter of a mile through the village street, then a sharp turn to the right, then up the narrow, cold north road."
A steep tug for half a mile. Then into the pastures. Ah! how lovely it was! Cherry looked off, and saw the river below, and beyond it the mountain that her mother had so often told her about. The day was one of those rare sunny ones that Belle had hoped for. The sunlight seemed to sift through the air in even, kindly measure upon everything. Cherry sat down upon a big stone, and warmed and rested herself after her long, cold journey up "the very, very shady road." Then she fell to work: Alas! alas! she found the green leaves of the arbutus, which she knew very well, all about—by poking for them under the brown covering of last year's twigs and foliage—but though there were green buds in profusion, she found only half a dozen tiny half-opened fragrant blossoms.
"Well," thought Cherry, bravely, but, after all, with a sinking at heart, for she feared that the flowers wouldn't open for a week, "it's better to be too early than too late, and Mrs. Lester has said that I might stay a month—but I do wish that they were open now."
As she walked down the quiet road she felt very lonesome.
"How nice it would be," she wished, "if Belle would only get well enough to climb the hill with me!" But Cherry sighed. She feared that dear little Belle would never get well enough to climb such a hill as that. Altogether Cherry felt a bit blue. As she neared the pretty village, however, she remembered the myriads of buds that she had left behind her, and how happy Belle was, and before she had taken her hat off, these thoughts, and the sunshine, and the sweet spring smells that were blowing all about her on the soft spring breezes, had brought a color to her face and a gayety to her manner that quite overcame little Belle, waiting with almost pathetic eagerness at the window to welcome her return.
"I tried to lie down—I really did, Cherry," she said; "but I thought I'd walk out into Aunty Rogers's garden—she says always call her Aunty Rogers—and see her daffodils, and I did."
"You did!" cried Cherry, her cup of delight overflowing. "What! after that journey, and everything? Why, it's splendid! But I'm afraid you've overdone."
"Oh no." Belle's happy voice did not sound at all alarming.
"See here," said Cherry, drawing out a spray of arbutus from her basket. "Almost May-flowers, Belle. Just smell of them." The half-opened little buds were indeed as fragrant as though they were in their prime.