-yellow and dark purple. They
were truly "Heart's Ease," gathered with a lavish hand, and sent as
gifts to friends who were ill. The more she picked the faster they
multiplied, and came to many a sick bed "sweet messengers of Spring."

If Aunt Sarah had a preference for one particular flower, 'twas the
rose, and they well repaid the time and care she lavished on them. She
had pale-tinted blush roses, with hearts of deepest pink; rockland and
prairie and hundred-leaf roses, pink and crimson ramblers, but the
most highly-prized roses of her collection were an exquisite, deep
salmon-colored "Marquis De Sinety" and an old-fashioned pink moss
rose, which grew beside a large bush of mock-orange, the creamy
blossoms of the latter almost as fragrant as real orange blossoms of
the sunny Southland. Not far distant, planted in a small bed by
themselves, grew old-fashioned, sweet-scented, double petunias,
ragged, ripple, ruffled corollas of white, with splotches of brilliant
crimson and purple, their slender stems scarcely strong enough to
support the heavy blossoms.

In one of the sunniest spots in the old garden grew Aunt Sarah's
latest acquisition. "The Butterfly Bush," probably so named on account
of its graceful stems, covered with spikes of tiny, lilac-colored
blossoms, over which continually hovered large, gorgeously-hued
butterflies, vying with the flowers in brilliancy of color, from early
June until late Summer.

Aunt Sarah's sunflowers, or "Sonnen Blume," as she liked to call them,
planted along the garden fence to feed chickens and birds alike, were
a sight worth seeing. The birds generally confiscated the larger
portion of seeds. A pretty sight it was to see a flock of wild
canaries, almost covering the tops of the largest sunflowers, busily
engaged picking out the rich, oily seeds.

Aunt Sarah loved the golden flowers, which always appeared to be
nodding to the sun, and her sunflowers were particularly fine, some
being as much as fifty inches in circumference.

A bouquet of the smaller ones was usually to be seen in a quaint, old,
blue-flowered, gray jar on the farm house veranda in Summertime.
Earlier in the season blossoms of the humble artichoke, which greatly
resemble small sunflowers, or large yellow daisies, filled the jar.
Failing either of these, she gathered large bouquets of golden-rod or
wild carrot blossoms, both of which grew in profusion along the
country lanes and roadside near the farm. But the o