Not far distant, planted in a small bed by themselves, grew old-fashioned, sweet-scented, double petunias, ragged, ripple, ruffled corollas of white, with splotches of brilliant crimson and purple, their slender stems scarcely strong enough to support the heavy blossoms.
In one of the sunniest spots in the old garden grew Aunt Sarah's latest acquisition.

"The Butterfly Bush," probably so named on account of its graceful stems, covered with spikes of tiny, lilac-colored blossoms, over which continually hovered large, gorgeously-hued butterflies, vying with the flowers in brilliancy of color, from early June until late Summer.
Aunt Sarah's sunflowers, or "Sonnen Blume," as she liked to call them, planted along the garden fence to feed chickens and birds alike, were a sight worth seeing.

The birds generally confiscated the larger portion of seeds.

A pretty sight it was to see a flock of wild canaries, almost covering the tops of the largest sunflowers, busily engaged picking out the rich, oily seeds.
Aunt Sarah loved the golden flowers, which always appeared to be nodding to the sun, and her sunflowers were particularly fine, some being as much as fifty inches in circumference.
A bouquet of the smaller ones was usually to be seen in a quaint, old, blue-flowered, gray jar on the farm house veranda in Summertime.
Earlier in the season blossoms of the humble artichoke, which greatly resemble small sunflowers, or large yellow daisies, filled the jar.
Failing either of these, she gathered large bouquets of golden-rod or wild carrot blossoms, both of which grew in profusion along the country lanes and roadside near the farm.

But the old gray jar never held a bouquet more beautiful than the one of bright, blue "fringed gentians," gathered by Aunt Sarah in the Fall of the year, several miles distant from the farm..