Poor Randy! To think it a sin to long with all her girlish heart for pretty things! With a sigh she turned from the picture of the tree to the one hanging upon the side wall. This was more cheerful—an ancient fashion plate in which insipid-looking gentlemen, in white trousers and long, blue coats, were smiling at some waxen-faced ladies whose beruffled skirts were voluminously extended.
She rather admired this picture, mainly because the people in it, at least, looked cheerful. Leaving the pictures, Randy let her eyes slowly wander over the furnishings. As none of her neighbors or acquaintances had carpets, the yellow painted floor seemed quite fine. The chairs were also yellow, and as a crowning luxury, a green enamelled cloth lounge stood in all its slippery grandeur against the wall, beside the door.
Randy liked the lounge, but wished it possible to sit upon it without slipping. While she was wishing that she had some pretty thing in the shape of an ornament for the table, her eyes wandered to the window, where, looking out into the garden, she could see the tall spikes of pink and blue larkspur waving in the breeze. A bright idea! Why not have some flowers upon the table?
Away she ran to the kitchen closet, and there she inspected everything on the shelves, so anxious was she to find something fine for her flowers.
“Oh, that’s the thing,” said Randy, “if mother’ll let me have it.” Appealed to, Mrs. Weston looked doubtful. “’Tain’t a vase,” said she, “it’s my old white and blue spoon holder, an’ I do’no how it will look in the best room.”
“But you’d be willing I should use it, wouldn’t you?” Randy asked eagerly.
“Oh, I don’t mind your usin’ it; go put your posies in it an’ see how it looks.”
Surprised and delighted that her mother should express the least interest, Randy skipped out into the garden and came running back in a few moments with a dozen long stalks of larkspur in her hands. She filled the old spoon holder with water and crowded in the flowers, then away she ran to the best room.
“Oh, mother,” she called, a minute later, “do come and see the room.” Mrs. Weston stopped in the doorway.
“Wal’, I do declare,” she ejaculated, “I must say that does look pretty. Why, Randy, you do have a real knack to fix it up so. Them flowers brighten up the place wonderful, and that sparrowgrass just beats anything.”