“All right. One—two—three—go!”
It was a charming little cottage before which they brought up at the Judge’s side. Its front yard was small, so that the bay-windows one upon each side the door, came almost to the white paling before the grounds; but one could catch a glimpse of a deep garden behind and Dorothy’s flower-loving soul was enchanted by it, even as by the contents of the windows.
“Oh! look! How lovely! Did you ever see such Gloxinias and Cyclamens? And that Weeping Fuschia in the other window! It is gorgeous, simply gorgeous! But how queer, too, to keep plants indoors as late as this! and their lace curtains up, right in the summer-time! Are we going in here, Judge Breckenridge?”
“Yes, indeed. I paused only to let your rhapsody have vent, though I really wish the little mistress of this home could have heard such a spontaneous tribute to her skill as a florist. You’ll notice that peculiarity all through the Province. Window plants remain in the windows all the year round and there is scarcely a home that hasn’t its share of them and its tiny conservatory, such as is here.
“Curtains? I hadn’t thought why they’re up, but maybe it’s to keep out the prying gaze of too eager ‘tourists.’ A fine scorn the native always has for the average ‘tourist’—though he has no scorn for the tourist’s cash. Ah! Here she comes!”
At that instant his summons upon the tiny knocker was answered by the soft footfall of a woman, and the opening of the door a narrow way. Then it was as instantly flung wide and a dainty little housemistress, white-capped and white-haired, extended two small, toil-worn hands in greeting.
“Oh! Judge Breckenridge! You did give me such a start! But I’m so glad to see you! So more than glad. Do step right in, please. All of you step in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cook, for your welcome and your invitation; but we’d rather step right out if you don’t mind?”
“Why—sir!”
“No lack of appreciation, believe me. But I’ve a young lady here who is ‘plumb crazy’ over posies and, coming along on the steamer, I promised her a glimpse of some of Yarmouth’s garden ‘cosy corners.’ I know none lovelier than your own; and as for your window-plants—I’m afraid if we don’t take her away from temptation she’ll break the glass and ‘hook’ one of your ‘Gloxamens’ or ‘Cyclaglinias’ or—”