Spring was late that year,but to Jill it seemed the loveliest she had ever known,for hope was growing green and strong in her own little heart,and all the world looked beautiful.With the help of the brace she could sit up for a short time every day,and when the air was mild enough she was warmly wrapped and allowed to look out at the open window into the garden,where the gold and purple crocuses were coming bravely up,and the snowdrops nodded their delicate heads as if calling to her,"Good day,little sister,come out and play with us,for winter is over and spring is here.""I wish I could!"thought Jill,as the soft wind kissed a tinge of color into her pale cheeks."Never mind,they have been shut up in a darker place than I for months,and had no fun at all;I won't fret,but think about July and the seashore while I work."The job now in hand was May baskets,for it was the custom of the children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before May-day;and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys would hunt for flowers,much the harder task of the two.Jill had more leisure as well as taste and skill than the other girls,so she amused herself with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all shapes,sizes,and colors,quite confident that they would be filled,though not a flower had shown its head except a few hardy dandelions,and here and there a small cluster of saxifrage.
The violets would not open their blue eyes till the sunshine was warmer,the columbines refused to dance with the boisterous east wind,the ferns kept themselves rolled up in their brown flannel jackets,and little Hepatica,with many another spring beauty,hid away in the woods,afraid to venture out,in spite of the eager welcome awaiting them.But the birds had come,punctual as ever,and the bluejays were screaming in the orchard,robins were perking up their heads and tails as they went house-hunting,purple finches in their little red hoods were feasting on the spruce buds,and the faithful chip birds chirped gayly on the grapevine trellis where they had lived all winter,warming their little gray breasts against the southern side of the house when the sun shone,and hiding under the evergreen boughs when the snow fell.
"That tree is a sort of bird's hotel,"said Jill,looking out at the tall spruce before her window,every spray now tipped with a soft green."They all go there to sleep and eat,and it has room for everyone,It is green when other trees die,the wind can't break it,and the snow only makes it look prettier.It sings to me,and nods as if it knew I loved it.""We might call it 'The Holly Tree Inn,'as some of the cheap eating-houses for poor people are called in the city,as my holly bush grows at its foot for a sign.You can be the landlady,and feed your feathery customers every day,till the hard times are over,"said Mrs.Minot,glad to see the child's enjoyment of the outer world from which she had been shut so long.
Jill liked the fancy,and gladly strewed crumbs on the window ledge for the chippies,who came confidingly to eat almost from her hand.She threw out grain for the handsome jays,the jaunty robins,and the neighbors'doves,who came with soft flight to trip about on their pink feet,arching their shining necks as they cooed and pecked.Carrots and cabbage-leaves also flew out of the window for the marauding gray rabbit,last of all Jack's half-dozen,who led him a weary life of it because they would not stay in the Bunny-house,but undermined the garden with their burrows,ate the neighbors'plants,and refused to be caught till all but one ran away,to Jack's great relief.This old fellow camped out for the winter,and seemed to get on very well among the cats and the hens,who shared their stores with him,and he might be seen at all hours of the day and night scampering about the place,or kicking up his heels by moonlight,for he was a desperate poacher.
Jill took great delight in her pretty pensioners,who soon learned to love "The Holly Tree Inn,"and to feel that the Bird Room held a caged comrade;for,when it was too cold or wet to open the windows,the doves came and tapped at the pane,the chippies sat on the ledge in plump little bunches as if she were their sunshine,the jays called her in their shrill voices to ring the dinner-bell,and the robins tilted on the spruce boughs where lunch was always to be had.
The first of May came on Sunday,so all the celebrating must be done on Saturday,which happily proved fair,though too chilly for muslin gowns,paper garlands,and picnics on damp grass.Being a holiday,the boys decided to devote the morning to ball and the afternoon to the flower hunt,while the girls finished the baskets;and in the evening our particular seven were to meet at the Minots to fill them,ready for the closing frolic of hanging on door-handles,ringing bells,and running away.
"Now I must do my Maying,for there will be no more sunshine,and I want to pick my flowers before it is dark.Come,Mammy,you go too,"said Jill,as the last sunbeams shone in at the western window where her hyacinths stood that no fostering ray might be lost.
It was rather pathetic to see the once merry girl who used to be the life of the wood-parties now carefully lifting herself from the couch,and,leaning on her mother's strong arm,slowly take the half-dozen steps that made up her little expedition.But she was happy,and stood smiling out at old Bun skipping down the walk,the gold-edged clouds that drew apart so that a sunbeam tiiight give her a good-night kiss as she gathered her long-cherished daisies,primroses,and hyacinths to fill the pretty basket in her hand.
"Who is it for,my deane?"asked her mother,standing behind her as a prop,while the thin fingers did their work so willingly that not~a flower was left.
"For My Lady,of course.Who else would I give my posies to,when I love them so well?"answered Jill,who thought no name too fine for their best friend.
