Peter did not have long to wonder which of his flower friends he would find next. Indeed, it was only a short time later that, as he left the Green Forest to cross the Green Meadows on his way home to the dear Old Briar-patch, he came upon a whole army of little blossoms which are among the dearest of all that bloom in the early spring. Side by side they grew, so close together that many of them touched each other. They were like little soldiers on parade. Each flower was in the shape of a tiny tube opening into four oval petals.

"Bluets!" cried Peter, as he sat down beside them. "I love them. I do so."

"So do I," said a sharp little voice, and there was Peter's friend of the Hepaticas, the little cousin of Bumblebee. "I suppose you love them to eat," added the little Bee.

"No," replied Peter, indignantly. "They are too pretty to eat. I love them because they look so pure and innocent. They are like tiny stars with gold centers, and it seems to me everyone must love them. They add joy to the Great World just at this time of year when it is most needed."

"Pooh!" said the practical little Bee. "Pooh! Pooh! I love them for a better reason than that. I love them for more than looks. I love them for the sweetness that is in the heart of each. If it wasn't for this, I wouldn't take three strokes of my wings for a look at them."

"Which do you like the best, the white or the blue?" asked Peter, for he had just noticed that while some of these little stars were snowy white, many of them were bluish, some of them quite blue, especially near the ends of the petals.

"They are all alike to me," replied the little Bee, busily buzzing from one to another and taking a tiny drop of nectar from each. "Color makes no difference so long as they have something to give me."

"You ought to be made to pay for it," declared Peter.

"I do pay for it," snapped the little Bee. "I carry that fine yellow powder which is called pollen from the heart of one to the heart of another, and this is necessary in order for them to make seeds by and by. I guess if it were not for some of us little winged people there wouldn't be so many of these Bluets you seem to love so much."

Peter didn't quite understand this, but as the little Bee seemed to be very sure of what she was talking about, he concluded that it must be so. Anyway, the little blossoms appeared to welcome the little Bee and not to begrudge the sweetness she took from them.

At first it seemed to Peter that these tiny flowers grew on a stem with no leaves, but when he looked closely he saw that tiny leaves grew out in pairs from opposite sides of this stem or stalk, and that the latter came up from a tuft of small leaves. There were dozens and dozens of these little flowers already in bloom, and dozens and dozens of tiny buds pushing up between them to take their places when they should fade. Peter knew that within a week there would be such great patches of Bluets on the Green Meadows that at a distance they would look almost like snow. These flowers are also called Innocence and Quaker Ladies.

It was a week later that Peter again went flower hunting. This time he started for that part of the Green Forest where the Laughing Brook makes its way out into the Green Meadows towards the Smiling Pool. It is wet and swampy in there, and Peter had it in his mind that he might find a certain flower which loves to grow in such a place.

As he hurried, lipperty-lipperty-lip, through the Green Forest, he came to a part of it where the trees were not close together, and the earth was somewhat damp. There, just at one side of the Lone Little Path, two lavender blossoms a foot or more above the ground nodded a greeting to him. Each had five petals. These were almost whitish where they met around the heart of the flower. From this whitish base of each petal ran five fine lines out to the outer edge.

The leaves were cut very deeply into three to five parts, and each of these parts was divided many times. Some of the older leaves were spotted with white. The stalk was branched and was covered with tiny hairs.

It was an old friend Peter had found. It was the Wild Geranium, or Spotted Crane's-bill, a flower brave enough to come early in the spring, but so delicate that it will not stand being picked. Though Peter did not know it, he had many times seen the long, quaint seed pod of this flower, which, when the seeds are ready, springs open and throws them out some distance.

Once more Peter started on, lipperty-lipperty-lip. When he reached the swampy place where the water stood between big grassy tussocks he began to pick his way carefully, for you know Peter doesn't like to get his feet wet. From tussock to tussock he jumped, this way and that way. Every moment or two he sat up and looked all about.

"Have you lost something, Peter?" cried Winsome Bluebird, from the top of a tall tree on the bank of the Laughing Brook.

Peter looked up and grinned. "No," said he. "No, Winsome, I haven't lost anything, but I'm looking for something. I'm looking for gold. If I don't find it pretty soon, I shall think that something is very wrong, very wrong indeed." With this Peter kicked up his heels, jumped over a puddle, and went on his way.

Winsome Bluebird scratched his head. "Gold!" he said to himself. "Gold! I always suspected that Peter Rabbit wasn't quite right in his head, and now I know it. The idea! The idea of looking along the Laughing Brook for gold! Whoever heard of such a thing!

At first Winsome Bluebird thought he would hunt up some of his friends and tell them of Peter Rabbit's foolishness. Then he decided he would follow Peter and see what he was doing. He was just in time to see Peter dancing about and kicking up his long heels on the bank of the Laughing Brook, just on the edge of the Green Meadows. What could it mean? Winsome hurried over to see.

"I've found my gold, Winsome! I've found my gold!" cried Peter, as soon as Winsome drew near. He pointed down to the edge of the Laughing Brook.

Winsome looked eagerly. "I don't see any gold," said he, disappointedly. "I don't see anything but some yellow flowers, which I've heard some people call Cowslips and some call Marsh Marigolds."

Peter laughed happily. "They are my gold!" cried he. "See how they shine! And they are full of golden meaning, for now I know that truly Mistress Spring is here to stay. I hoped I would find the very first ones to bloom, and I guess I have." Once more Peter kicked up his heels for pure joy.

The flowers Peter had found grew in a cluster above a mass of large, shining, rounded, green leaves that were heart-shaped at the base. They were growing on large, hollow stems, and the roots were on the very edge of the Laughing Brook. The flowers were much like large Buttercups, and they shone as if they were indeed of pure gold. The leaves were glossy, also.

Winsome Bluebird had been right in saying that they are called Cowslips and Marsh Marigolds. But they are neither true Cowslips nor true Marigolds, for they belong to the Crowfoot family, the same family to which the Buttercups belong. Another name for this plant is the Meadow Gowan. There is no mistaking these flowers, for no others at all like them grow with their feet in the water, as it were.