Over in the rushes near the Smiling Pool was Redwing the Blackbird, telling all who would listen his joy in being back home once more. Way over in the dear Old Briar-patch Peter Rabbit could hear him. It reminded him that it was some time since he had been over by the Smiling Pool. Besides, he hadn't yet paid his respects to Redwing. He would do it now.

First looking this way and that way to make sure that all was safe, Peter started lipperty-lipperty-lip, across the Green Meadows. Redwing saw him coming. "Hello, Peter!" he cried. "I certainly am glad to see you."

"You are no more glad to see me than I am to see you," replied Peter, as he reached the bank of the Smiling Pool quite out of breath. "I hope you and Mrs. Redwing passed a pleasant winter in the Sunny South."

"We certainly did," replied Redwing. "But it is good to be back here. Yes, sir, it is good to be back. This is home, you know, and there is no place like home."

"I know it," replied Peter. "That is why I never leave it. What is the news, Redwing?"

"I know of no better news than that the White Violets are in bloom," replied Redwing, promptly.

"When I see them I know that it is time to think of nest building. Don't you love them, Peter?"

Peter nodded. But on his face was a look of disappointment. He hadn't seen any White Violets yet and he couldn't bear to have anyone ahead of him. The truth is, he hadn't looked for White Violets. He had forgotten all about them. "Of course I love them," said he. "I can't imagine anyone not loving them. But how do you know they are in bloom, Redwing? Have you seen them?"

"Peter! Peter!" cried Redwing. "Where are your eyes? I can see dozens of them this very minute."

Redwing was perched on the top of a brown cattail. He was looking down at a place where the ground was low and wet just a few jumps from where Peter was sitting. Peter hurried over there. Sure enough, all about, modestly peeping up through the young grass, were the daintiest and dearest of all the Violet family, the Sweet White Violets. If Peter were disappointed at not being the first to find them, his disappointment gave way to joy.

Eagerly he leaned over to bring his wobbly little nose close to one of the little blossoms. At once he caught a fragrance as sweet and delicate as was the little blossom itself. Peter drew a long breath of pure happiness. How could one look at this beautiful little blossom, one of the smallest of all the Violets, and not be filled with happiness? The five white petals, the two upper ones curving back and the lower ones delicately marked with fine lines of purple, seemed to hold within them the very spirit of love and faith.

The little flower was not over two inches above the ground, though Peter remembered having found some in other years more than twice as high. The smooth stem seemed to spring directly from the ground, and around it, growing from the same spot, were several thin, smooth, light green leaves which were rather round, and heart-shaped at the base. The edges were very finely toothed.

Slowly Peter hopped about among the violets, stopping every hop or two to smell of them and always taking the greatest care not to step on one. Presently he noticed some of the beautiful little blossoms which grew taller than those he had been looking at. He would not have given them a second thought, had he not chanced to notice that the leaves were quite different. They were long and narrow instead of being nearly round. Then he knew that he had found a close cousin of the Sweet White Violet, the Lance-leaved Violet. The two are often found near together.

Having admired the Violets to his heart's content, Peter scampered over to the Green Forest where it was cool and shady. There he sat down to try to make up his mind where to go next. The ground was moist in there. Peter had about decided that he would go where it was drier when who should come along but Mrs. Grouse.

"Good morning, Peter," said she, for she and Peter are old friends.

"Good morning, Mrs. Grouse," replied Peter promptly. "I hope you are feeling as fine as you look."

The bright little eyes of Mrs. Grouse twinkled. "I don't know how I could feel finer," said she. "Isn't it good to have such fine spring weather? What is the news this morning?"

Peter scratched his head. For a moment he couldn't think of any news. Then he remembered the Violets. "The White Violets are in bloom!" he cried eagerly.

"That isn't news," replied Mrs. Grouse, scratching over some leaves to look for any stray bugs that might be hiding under them. "That isn't news, Peter. I saw them several days ago. By the way, it looks as if there will be plenty of Eyeberries by and by."

"Eyeberries!" exclaimed Peter. "What under the sun are Eyeberries?"

"Fie, fie, Peter! Don't tell me that you don't know what Eyeberries are. You must have seen them dozens of times," retorted Mrs. Grouse.

Peter shook his head. "I never heard of such a thing as an Eyeberry," he declared.

Mrs. Grouse chuckled. "You may not have heard that name," said she, "but you have seen the berries often enough. They are those white berries with a purple spot just like an eye. That is why I call them Eyeberries. There are no other berries like them."

Peter remembered at once having often seen those white berries on bright red stems early in the fall, and now that Mrs. Grouse had mentioned the purple spot on each, he understood why she called them Eyeberries. But it was April now and it would be weeks before he would see those berries. "What under the sun put those berries into your head just now, Mrs. Grouse, and how do you know there will be plenty of them?" demanded Peter.

"Those flowers," replied Mrs. Grouse nodding towards a point just back of Peter. "Plenty of flowers means plenty of berries. Even you ought to know that."

Peter turned. Behind him were some tall plants. At least Peter called them tall, for when he sat up very straight he could not see over them. They were bushy. That is, the single stalk branched near the top. The dark green leaves were divided into leaflets, each leaflet sharp pointed at the tip, and the edges were toothed. They were arranged in threes, and the veins showed very plainly.

But it was the flowers that Peter was interested in. At first glance they reminded him of the Foamflowers he had found a few days before. But when he looked more closely he saw that these were not quite so soft and feathery. They were little white flowers, having a varying number of petals which were very narrow at the base, and then broadened out. Each little flower had many of the little threadlike parts called stamens springing up from the center, and it was these which had reminded Peter of the Foamflowers. Each little flower was on a short stem which sprang out from a long stem, and this long stem grew out from the same point on the stalk that the leaf stems started from. The flowers were arranged around the end of the long stem in much the same way as were the Foamflowers.

Peter hopped over to smell of them. Then he made a wry face. They didn't smell good. No, sir, he didn't like the smell of them. Mrs. Grouse chuckled. "Those flowers are much like the berries they will turn into later — good to look at only," said she.

"Aren't the berries good to eat?" demanded Peter.

Mrs. Grouse shook her head in a very decided way. "They are poisonous," said she. "I advise you never to try one of them. I guess they are meant to be looked at and nothing more. Just the same, I like to see them in the fall just as I like to see these flowers now. Everything has its use, and I guess the use of these little plants is to add beauty to the Green Forest."

"I guess that must be it," said Peter. "I wonder what the name of these flowers is."

That Mrs. Grouse couldn't tell him. But you and I know that he had found the White Baneberry, which is also called the Cohosh and the Rattlesnake Herb. In some places these berries are called Doll's-eyes, and the plant goes by that name. A very near relative is the Red Baneberry, the berries of which are red instead of white.