“Isn’t it lovely?” Gerry quite agreed. “That’s the Daisy plot over there. We choose flowers, all of us. In the War, you know, the beds were used for vegetable growing mostly; and herbs grew there too. I was too little to be here then; but Sybil told us. And then, afterwards, Miss Carey said the girls could show by their gardens how pleased they were that peace had come. It’s—like cheers and flags still, isn’t it?” finished up Gerry.
She was right; the gardens were just like cheers and flags. The gardens of youth; just as the gardens of age and dignity lay on the other side of the house. Already great patches of different coloured wallflowers were scenting the air; great clumps of pinks, too, were already open. Dusty-millers and polyanthuses were clustered round about. Pansies of all colours showed their faces; a big lilac-bush was in full bloom; the red hawthorns were nearly over; and fruit blossom was making the dwarf trees planted here and there both pink and white with bloom. “We’ve got a gorse bush in ours,” said Gerry, “because we do so love the smell. We brought it home from a picnic when it was small. It’s small still; but we want to hear the pods cracking in the sun some day when it’s very hot, like they do on the moor. The bees love the gardens, too,” she finished up thoughtfully.
So they did; there was no doubt of that. Although nine o’clock had not struck yet, the bees, buzzing and humming over the gardens, seemed to have been marketing for hours.
“We always have a huge hedge of sweet-peas in one of the gardens,” said Gerry. “Every year. Each of the patrols has it in turns. It’s the Foxgloves’ turn now, so we’ll catch the scent in our classroom, because the hedge will be just under our window. Won’t that be lovely!” She gave a little skip of delight.
Betty had felt inclined to do the same on that first morning. She had never known that school could give such delights, or that a garden could give such a happy feeling. She had never owned a garden before; but now, together with the rest of the Daisies, it certainly seemed that she owned a part of this. “At least, I suppose that only being a mascot,” she inquired eagerly, “doesn’t mean that I don’t count.”
“There isn’t any ‘only’ about being a mascot, I’m certain,” Gerry had told her; “though we might ask Sybil. Of course it’s partly your garden too. There’s the Cup, though, of course. I don’t know about that,” she added, wrinkling up her forehead as she bent over the bed of pinks. “I say,” she suddenly broke out, “here’s a snail. We don’t want him on the pinks, do we? And I daresay he likes ferns just as much. I’m going to put him over the fence into the wood. Mona squashes them, but I think that’s hateful.”
“What were you saying about the Cup?” inquired Betty, eagerly falling to upon a snail search; “I wish you would tell me. One of the other girls said——”
There, just inside, stood a small silver cup.