Clara's first glance, on doing as she had been directed, fell on three trees by the side of a fence, that were different from any they had yet studied. "What do you notice about them?" continued Miss Harson; "for I wish you to use your own eyes and thoughts as much as possible." "Why, the trunk is dark gray, and it isn't smooth, but it looks as if some one had dug out long, thin pieces of bark." "We will call it 'deeply furrowed,'" said her governess, "as that is a better expression; but your description is very good indeed." "The leaves are ever so pretty," said Malcolm--"so many of 'em on one stem!--and the green looks as if it was just made." "You mean by that, I suppose," replied Miss Harson, "that it is a very fresh tint; and we are seeing it in its first beauty now. This is the locust tree, and May is its time for leafing out in the tenderest of greens. The pinnate--from _pinna_, Latin for feather'--leaves are composed of from nine to twenty-five leaflets, which are egg-shaped, with a short point, very smooth, light green above and still lighter beneath. These leaves are much liked by cattle, and they are said to be very nutritious to them." [Illustration: FOLIAGE OF HONEY-LOCUST.] "How can you remember everything so, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm, lost in wonder, as the young lady, looking up at the trees, said these things as if they had been written there. John had declared that she talked like a book, and this seemed more like it than ever. "Oh no," was the laughing reply; "I do not remember _everything_, Malcolm, and perhaps it is just as well that I do not. But I will not tax my memory any more about the locust just now; we can take it up again this evening." "I should like to know," exclaimed Clara, after some thought, "why a tree is called _locust_, when a locust is such a disagreeable insect?" "I am afraid that I cannot tell you," replied Miss Harson, "unless the color of the leaves is similar to that of the 'disagreeable insect,' which is really very handsome, or unless the insects are very partial to the tree; I have seen no explanation of it. But the tree itself is very much admired, with its profusion of pinnate leaves and racemes of flowers that fill the air with the most agreeable odors." "What color are the flowers, Miss Harson?" asked Malcolm. "This description will tell you," was the reply. "The tree is not pretty in winter, and has no promise of beauty until 'May hangs on these withered boughs a green drapery that hides all their deformity; she infuses into their foliage a perfection of verdure that no other tree can rival, and a beauty in the forms of its leaves that renders it one of the chief ornaments of the groves and waysides. June weaves into this green foliage pendent clusters of flowers of mingled brown and white, filling the air with fragrance and enticing the bee with odors as sweet as from groves of citron and myrtle.'"