“You see,” explained Ellen, “the afternoon before we make up a party, and go on a long jaunt up hill and down dale, through the woods and over the meadows, picking all the spring blossoms we can find.  Finally, we come home with what we have succeeded in getting, and put them in water to keep fresh for the following day.  Then what an excitement there is hunting up baskets for them!  Tiny ones are best, because with them you can make the flowers go farther.  Strawberry baskets—­the old-fashioned ones with a handle—­are nice, especially if you paint or gild them.  Burr baskets are pretty too; and those made of fir cones.  Joe has a knack of putting such things together.  He made some elegant ones for me last year.”

“Are you trying to kill two birds with one stone?” asked her brother, with a laugh.  “Your compliment is also a hint that you would like me to do the same now, I suppose?”

“I never kill birds,” rejoined Ellen, taking the literal meaning of his words, for the purpose of chaffing him.  “Nor do you; for you told me the other day you did not understand how some boys could be so cruel.”

“No, but you do not mind their being killed if you want their wings for your hat,” continued Joe, in a bantering tone.

“Not at all,” said Ellen, triumphantly.  “In future I am going to wear only ribbons and artificial flowers on my chapeau.  I have joined the Society for the Prevention of the Destruction of the Native Birds of America.”

“Whew!” ejaculated Joe, with a prolonged whistle.  “What a name!  I should think that by the time you got to the end of it you’d be so old that you wouldn’t care any more for feathers and fixings.  I suppose it is a good thing though,” he went on, more seriously.  “It is just as cruel to kill birds for the sake of fashion as it is for the satisfaction of practising with a sling; only you girls have somebody to do it for you; and you don’t think about it, because you can just step into a store and buy the plumes—­”

“But what about the May-baskets?” protested Frances, disappointed at the digression.

“Oh, I forgot!” said Ellen.  “Bright and early May-morning almost every boy and girl in the village is up and away.  The plan is to hang a basket of wild flowers at the door of a friend, ring the bell or rattle the latch, and then scamper off as fast as you can.  You have to be very spry so as to be back at home when your own baskets begin to arrive; then you must be quick to run out and, if possible, catch the friend who knocks, and thus find out whom to thank for the flowers.”

“How delightful!” cried Frances, charmed at the prospect.

“It is so strange that you did not know about it!” added Ellen.