“Where are my own parents’ graves, if they are dead? Where are they if they are still alive?”
With this in mind and in memory of these other unknown sleepers whose ancient head-stones had moved her so profoundly, she gathered from the confines of the field a bunch of that periwinkle, or myrtle which grew there so abundantly. Thrusting this into the front of her jacket she resolved to pack it nicely in wet moss and send it home to Alfaretta, with the request that she would plant it in the cottage garden. Then she rejoined the others at the gate and the ride was continued to another point of interest called “Evangeline Beach.” Why or wherefore, nobody explained; yet it was a pretty enough spot on the shore where a few guests of a near-by hotel were bathing and where they all stopped to rest their horses before the long ride home.
Dorothy was full of thoughts of home by then, and something in the color of the horse which had drawn her hither awoke tender memories of pretty Portia, now doubtless happily grazing on a dear mountain far away. With this sentiment in mind she stooped and plucked a handful of grass and held it under the nose of the pensive livery-nag.
But alas, for sentiment! Not the few blades of sea-grass appealed to the creature who, while Dorothy’s head was turned, stretched forth its own and pulled the myrtle from the jacket and was contentedly munching it when its owner discovered its loss.
“Dolly Doodles, whatever are you doing?” cried Molly, running up.
“She’s got—he’s got my ‘Evangeline’ vines! I’m getting—what I can!”
Molly shouted in her glee and the rest of the party drew near to also enjoy. They had all alighted to walk about a bit and stretch their limbs, and now watched in answering amusement the brief tussle between maid and mare. It ended with the latter’s securing the lion’s share of the goodly bunch; but myrtle vines are tough and Dorothy came off a partial victor with one spray in her hand. It had lost most of its leaves and otherwise suffered mischance, yet she was not wholly hopeless of saving that much alive; and in any case the incident had banished all morbid thoughts from her mind, and she was quite the merriest of all during that long drive homeward to the hotel.
As they alighted Monty stepped gallantly forward and offered:
“When we get to Halifax I’ll buy you a slender vase and you can keep it in water till you go home yourself. Or I’ll send back to that graveyard and pay somebody to send you on a lot, after you get back to your own home.”
“Oh! thank you. That’s ever so kind, and I’ll be glad of the vase. But you needn’t send for any more vines. They wouldn’t be the same as this I gathered myself for darling Father John.”