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Updated: June 20, 2025
His Jennie used to go so often to the "old Buttonwood" it was all natural to hear her speak of that; and then it was so pleasant to have her come again with elastic step, and rosy cheek, to spring into his arms for her welcome kiss!
The caterpillar spun its winding-sheet, dangled in it from the great buttonwood tree that shaded the house, turned into a moth, fluttered with the last sunshine of summer, and disappeared; and finally the leaves of the buttonwood tree turned yellow, then brown, then rustled one by one to the ground, and whirling about in little eddies of wind and dust, whispered that winter was at hand.
Potts closed his umbrella on the shadow of the buttonwood relieving guard, facilitated his descent from the Virginia fence by an ungraceful application of her horns to the amplitude of his venerable person. It was in the summer following, that the incident I am about to relate occurred. It was fly-time, I remember it well.
He seemed perfectly at home, and in no wise discomfited by the storm that was raging around him. As the vivid light faded away Ned ran back to the buttonwood tree, and watched the blurred shape of the boat as it came down the channel.
In the first place, where do you get this huge wooden cylinder that I have, without apparent effect, been pouring water into? Is it manufactured or natural?" "Both. It is a section of the buttonwood tree." "Buttonwood? I don't think I ever heard of that. I know the beech and the maple, and some kinds of oak, but there my wood lore ends. Why the buttonwood?"
Three winters passed rapidly and profitably in the busy school-room, and Jennie's thirteenth spring-time found her, with her friend Rosalie, riding about the lawn upon the pretty pony, or playing with her golden-haired sister. "Jennie," said Rosalie, one lovely morning as they were amusing themselves upon the lawn; "would you not like to go to the old Buttonwood and swing?
Buttonwood Street, where he spent the first ten years of his life, was a lovely place for a boy to live. It contained mostly small two and three-story red brick houses, with small white marble steps leading up to the front door, and thin, white marble trimmings outlining the front door and windows. There were trees in the street plenty of them.
I said, "Yes, 'm, but I am to go in wading when it gets warmer." We went along the bank a little farther, and there were more trees, cherry trees, and willow trees, and buttonwood trees, and lots of nice places for us to put our hammocks. Then we went back to the house, and there was Aunty Edith in a big gingham apron toasting bread and making chocolate.
For many minutes we waited, but no life was visible about the buttonwood bushes which held the nests no old birds like fragments of fleecy clouds came floating in over the dark canopy of cypress trees.
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