“Doesn’t Armine come?”
“Not he!” said Bobus. “Says he doesn’t want to acquire the taste, and he would knock up with half a day.”
“But you’ll all come and bring us luncheon?” entreated Jock. “You will, mother! Now, won’t you? We’ll eat it on a bank like old times when we lived at the Folly, and all were jolly. I beg your pardon, Bob; I didn’t mean to turn into another poetical brother on your hands, but enthusiasm was too strong for me! Come, Mother Carey, do!”
“Where is it to be?” she asked, smiling.
“Out by the Long Hanger would be a good place,” said Bobus, “where we found the Epipactis grandiflora.”
“Or the heathery knoll where poor little mother got into a scrape for singing profane songs by moonlight,” laughed Jock.
“Ah! that was when hearts were light,” she said; “but at any rate we’ll make a holiday of it, for Jock’s sake.”
“Ha! what do I see?” exclaimed Jock, who was opposite the open window. “Is that Armine, or a Jack-in-the-Green?”
“Oh!” half sighed Barbara. “It’s that harvest decoration!” And Armine, casting down armfuls of great ferns, and beautiful trailing plants, made his entrance through the open window, exchanging greetings, and making a semi-apology for his late appearance as he said—
“Mother, please desire Macrae to cut me the great white orchids. He won’t do it unless you tell him, and I promised them for the Altar vases.”