Stepping out of one of the long French windows that opened on the side porch, Mary ran across to the monument.

It was a glorious June morning.

The myriads of roses were doubly sweet with the dew in their hearts.

A Kentucky cardinal flashed across the lawn ahead of her, darting from one locust-tree to another like a bit of live flame.
The little red Turkish slippers chased lightly over the grass till they reached the shadow of the monument.

Then stooping, Mary passed her hands over the daisies and clover, catching up the dewdrops in her pink palms, and rubbing them over her face as she repeated Mom Beck's charm: "Beauty come, freckles go! Dewdops, make me white as snow!" The dew on her face felt so cool and fresh that she tried it again, then several times more.