_
Miss Harson had admonished her little flock that they must use their own
eyes and be able to tell her things instead of depending altogether on
her to tell them; so now they were all peering curiously among the trees
to see which were putting on their new spring suits. The yellow trees
and the pink trees had been readily distinguished, but, although the
others had not been idle, it was not so easy for little people to
discern their leaf-buds.
Clara soon made a discovery, however, of what her governess had noticed
for a day or two, and the wonder was found on their own home-elms, those
stately trees which had shaded the house ever since it was built, and
from which the place got its pretty name--Elmridge.
"Well, dear," said Miss Harson, coming to the upper window from which an
eager head was thrust, "what is it that you wish me to see?"
"Those funny flowers on the bare elm trees," was the reply. "Look, Miss
Harson! Didn't I see them first?"
"You have certainly spoken of them first, for neither Malcolm nor Edith
has said anything about them. But they must both come up here now, where
they can see them, and Malcolm and I can manage to reach some of the
blossoms by getting out of the broad window on to the little balcony."
Up came the two children kangaroo-fashion in a series of jumps, and
presently Miss Harson was holding a cluster of dark maroon-colored
flowers in her hand.
"How queer and dark they make the trees look!" said Malcolm; "and
they're so thick that they 'most cover up the branches.
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