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Updated: June 1, 2025
They went to the pasture and said good-bye to Bonny-Belle, Bess, and Buttercup, and to frisky little Don. They even stood at the fence and waved good-bye to bad Big Ben. Then the two mothers and the three little girls said good-bye to Mrs. White and Billy and Molly and last of all to dear little Mary, who promised to come and visit them at Christmas time.
Buttercup of course lent able assistance to her mistress in these domestic duties, and, despite her own juvenility we might perhaps say, in consequence of it gave Mary much valuable advice. "Dat man's in a bad way," said she, as, with her huge lips pouting earnestly, she examined the contents of a big pot on the fire.
In farther jaunts afield we shall discover yet more. It is May, and a heavy rainstorm has caused the petals of a trillium to forget themselves and return to their primitive hue of leafy green. A month later we come upon a buttercup, one of whose sepals has grown out as a small but perfect leaf.
"I'll wear my buttercup dress to-night, Eliot," said Eugenia, when her black hair had been carefully brushed and plaited in two long braids. "It always makes my eyes look so big and dark, somehow, and brings out the colour in my lips and cheeks." "You are a young one to be noticing such things as that," said Eliot, under her breath.
Again, if in the vegetable world green almost universally colours the leaves, yellow has more to do with the flowers. The flowers we love best are yellow: the cowslip, the daffodil, the crocus, the buttercup, half the daisy, the honeysuckle, and the loveliest rose.
There, that is my story," said the buttercup. "My poor old grandmother!" sighed Gerda; "she is longing to see me, and grieving for me as she did for little Kay; but I shall soon go home now, and take little Kay with me. It is no use asking the flowers; they know only their own songs, and can give me no information."
He goes out into the highway and brandishes a double-handed sword in order to sweep off the head of a buttercup. And I suppose he expects the public to believe that his wild language, all about nothing, means strength; just as he hopes that they will take his noisy horse-laugh for humor.
Again, a bright day or a cloudy, the presence of a slight haze, or the juxtaposition of other colours, alters it very much; for the dandelion is not a glazed colour, like the buttercup, but sensitive. It is like a sponge, and adds to its own hue that which is passing, sucking it up. The shadows of the trees in the wood, why are they blue? Ought they not to be dark?
The sky was of a faint, milky blue, like the blue that moves under the white cloud in a moonstone, and the first far down ray of morning sun, coming up with the balmy wind from still, secret places where the youth of the world slept, shimmered golden as a buttercup held under the pearly chin of a child.
A Bee buzzed into a buttercup under the Cat's nose. 'I beg your pardon, said the Cat, 'it isn't curiosity what are you doing? 'Doing my duty; don't stop me, Cat. 'But, Bee, what is your duty? 'Making honey, said the Bee. 'I wish I could make honey, sighed the Cat. 'Do you mean to say you can't? said the Bee. 'How stupid you must be. What do you do, then? 'I do nothing, Bee.
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