The fields around "The Cedars" were filled with low mounds, like velvet cushions: some of them were merely a mat of moss over great rocks; some of them were soft yielding masses of moss, low cornel, blueberry-bushes, wintergreen, blackberry-vines, and sweet ferns; dainty, fragrant, crowded ovals, lovelier than any florist could ever make; white and green in the spring, when the cornels were in flower; scarlet and green and blue in the autumn, when the cornels and the blueberries were in fruit.
Mercy was sitting on a mound which was thick-grown with the shining wintergreen.

She picked a stem which had a cluster of red berries on it, and below the berries one tiny pink blossom.

As she held it up, the blossom fell, leaving a tiny satin disk behind it on its stem.

She took the bell and tried to fit it again on its place; then she turned it over and over, held it up to the light and looked through it.

"It makes me sad," she said: "I wish I knew if the flower knows any thing about the fruit.