It was with a hearty shout they hailed
the first violets.
"Here they are, here they are!" cried Ethel Blue. "Aunt Marion said she
was sure she saw some near the brook. She quoted some poetry about it--
"'Blue ran the flash across;
Violets were born!'"
"That's pretty; what's the rest of it?" asked Ethel Brown, on her knees
taking up some of the plants with her trowel and placing them in her
basket so carefully that there was plenty of earth surrounding each one
to serve as a nest when it should be put into Helen's wild flower bed.
"It's about something good happening when everything seems very bad,"
explained Ethel Blue. "Browning wrote it."
"Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May morn,
Blue ran the flash across:
Violets were born!
"Sky--what a scowl of cloud
Till, near and far,
Ray on ray split the shroud:
Splendid, a star!
"World--how it walled about
Life with disgrace
Till God's own smile came out:
That was thy face!"
"It's always so, isn't it!" approved Dorothy. "And the more we think
about the silver lining to every cloud the more likely it is to show
itself."
"What's this delicate white stuff? And these tiny bluey eyes?" asked
Ethel Blue, who was again stooping over to examine the plants that
enjoyed the moist positions near the stream.
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