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Updated: June 20, 2025
I recalled his having excused himself for eluding Dahlia by that same well-worn proverb. "No don't run! Have I become suddenly so terrifying?" "Why should you be terrifying?" asked Hepatica. "Come and sit down and tell us what you've all been doing while I was away." Her back was toward me. There was a long window open close beside me. My sympathy was with the Skeptic. I slipped through it.
It was the third time already, and the dinner was not far on its way. I saw Hepatica shield hers also for the third time. A tiny flush was beginning to creep up Althea's cheeks. She had refused only the first offering of the waiter. The Promoter turned and viewed my empty glasses with ill-disguised contempt.
and follow its brimming waters through the budding forests, to that corner which we call the Painter's Camp. See how the banks are all enamelled with the pale hepatica, the painted trillium, and the delicate pink-veined spring beauty.
No, The Garden, You, and I know that hardy plants, native and acclimated, may be had in bloom from hepatica time until ice crowns the last button chrysanthemum and chance pansy, but to have every bed in continuous bloom all the season is not for us, any more than it is to be expected that every individual plant in a row should survive the frost upheavals and thaws of winter.
The Philosopher and Hepatica, seeing the old magic circle forming, promptly added themselves. It fell out, presently, that the Philosopher and I, a step away from the others, were observing them as we talked together. The Philosopher had adjusted his eyeglasses, having carefully polished them. He seemed to want to see things clearly to-day.
And so, when Phœbe was twelve years old she knew the haunts of all the wild flowers within walking distance of her home. With her father or with David and Mother Bab she found the first marsh-marigolds in the meadows, the first violets of the wooded slope of the hill, the earliest hepatica with its woolly buds, the first windflowers and spring beauties.
Yet, for all that, it does not awaken the emotion in one that the earlier and more delicate spring flowers do, the hepatica, say, with its shy wood habits, its pure, infantile expression, and at times its delicate perfume; or the houstonia, "innocence," flecking or streaking the cold spring earth with a milky way of minute stars; or the trailing arbutus, sweeter scented than the English violet, and outvying in tints Cytherea's or any other blooming goddess's cheek.
She had come down from school for blissful week-ends and holidays, and she and Randy had tramped over the hills and through the pine woods, finding wild-flowers in the spring, arbutus, flushing to beauty in its hidden bed, blood-root, hepatica, wind-flowers, violets in a purple glory; finding in the summer wild roses, dewberries, blackberries, bees and butterflies, the cool shade of the little groves, the shine and shimmer of the streams; finding in the fall a golden stillness and the redness of Virginia Creeper.
There are certain localities, near by, where the Hepatica is all but white, and others where the May-flower is sumptuous in pink; yet it is not traceable to wet or dry, sun or shadow, and no agricultural chemistry can disclose the secret.
A little farther and we find a group of them and then other clusters, fresh and pure and sweet enough to make a bouquet for Euphrosyne. Oh, but someone says, the hepatica is the first flower of spring; all the nature writers say so. Well, but they don't seem to say much about the trillium; possibly they haven't found it so often. Indeed, it seems to be more choice of its location.
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