The snow now began to melt, and the grass to spring up in the fields above the beach. Leaves came out upon the trees,—red at first, and tender, but soon so bright and green that the birds came back to build among them. The days grew longer, the sun shone higher in the heavens at noonday. The fishermen again launched their boats upon the waters, now no longer dark and ice-bound, but brightly blue, sparkling in the sunlight.
The planting season had come. There was no need of longer putting off their grand project. The ground was already soft. Myrtle thought it better not to ask granny, lest she should say no, but to work in the very early mornings, before the others were stirring. This would not interfere with their daily tasks.
They dug up the ground, and brought basketfuls of soil from beyond the beach; for the hut stood in a barren, sandy spot.
The dog did not bite; he was chained. The gardener was a rough man. When he saw Rosebud coming, he caught up his stick, and cried, “Be off! you—”
But when he looked down into her gentle, pleading face, as it was upturned to him, he left the sentence unfinished, and said, quite mildly, “Do you want anything of me?”
“Please, sir, some flower-seeds, for my garden, sir,” said Rosebud.
“Humph!” cried he. “And what will you pay?”
“I will pay you two shell-baskets,” said Rosebud,—“a pink and a white shell-basket; and here they are,”—for she had made them that morning to bring.
“Ha!” cried he. “These will please my wife! Here, take the seeds.”
And he gave Rosebud her apron full.