"What kind of flowers grow in the country?" said Ellen.
"Why, there's primroses, and violets, and roses, and honeysuckle, and poppies, and a hundred things."
"Well, we've got flowers in the town too," said Janet.
"Indeed," said Mr. Smith incredulously. "I haven't discovered them yet, except a few things, stunted and withered, and all boxed up in smoky gardens."
Janet smiled to herself, and determined that she would show the country stranger the truth of her words.
The next day was Sunday, and Mr. Smith went to the nearest church with Ellen and Janet, while Mrs. Shipton stayed at home with Maurice.
Janet did not return with the others, but when they had been in a few minutes, her bounding footstep was heard on the stairs, and she entered with a whole handful of daisies, which she held out triumphantly to Mr. Smith.
"There!" she cried, "there are flowers in the town!"
Mr. Smith laughed. "Where did these come from, little one?"
"Out of the churchyard, from off father's grave," said Janet, dropping her voice.