“But I’ve something else for ye,” said Katy.
“I don’t care what you have,” answered Linda. “I am just compelled to park these little roosters at once.”
“What makes ye call them that ungodly name?” asked Katy.
“Nothing ungodly about it,” answered Linda. “It’s funny. Gallito is the Spanish name for these violets, and it means ‘little rooster.’”
Linda set the violets as carefully as they had been lifted and rinsed her hands at the hydrant.
“Now bring on the remainder of the exhibit,” she ordered.
“It’s there on the top of the rock pile, which you notice has incrased since ye last saw it.”
“So it has!” said Linda. “So it has! And beautifully coloured specimens those are too. My fern bed will lift up its voice and rejoice in them. And rocks mean Henry Anderson. The box I do not understand.”
Linda picked it up, untied the string, and slipped off the wrapping. Katy stared in wide-mouthed amazement.
“I was just tickled over that because Miss Eileen saw a good-looking and capable young man leave a second package, right on the heels of young Whiting,” she said. “Whatever have ye got, lambie? What does that mean?”