"My, what a lovely bunch you have!" exclaimed Alice a little later as she saw how diligently Mary Jane had been picking. "Miss Heath will like that, I know."
"But Miss Heath isn't the one this is for," said Mary Jane quickly, "not unless mother says so."
"Who do you want to give it to, pet?" asked Mrs. Merrill who happened to be near enough to hear what was said, "your father?"
"No," said Mary Jane, decidedly, "Daddah will come out and get some to-morrow, maybe. I want to send mine on the train—will they take flowers on the train?"
"On the train!" exclaimed Mrs. Merrill. "Yes, they take flowers, but who do you want to send them to?"
"My Aunt Effie," said Mary Jane. "I want to send my flowers to her."
"My thoughtful little girl!" said Mrs. Merrill and she put her arms tenderly around her daughter. "I think that is a fine plan and she'll be so glad to get them. You pick all you can and then after we get home, I'll pack them in a box and Daddah will take them down to the station this evening and put them on the New York train."
So of course, after that promise, Mary Jane picked more and more till she had a fine big bunch of violets and buttercups.
But picking violets is tiresome work—that is, it is tiresome if you do it for long. And it's not much wonder that after she had picked three handfuls, Mary Jane decided that she had enough. She wandered back to the rocks where the baskets were set and looked around for the others. All were in plain sight, but they were scattered about, each one picking where she thought the picking was best.
"I think I'll sit down here," said the little girl, "and fix mine so their stems are all straight." And she sat down on the biggest rock close by the edge of the creek—right at the bend where the water was deepest.