"If you weren't a little fool and talking purposely to irritate me, you'd almost cause me to ask if you seriously mean that?" said Mrs. Minturn.
"Why," laughed Leslie, determined not to become provoked on this her great day, "that is a matter you can test for yourself. If you haven't a score of Martha, get one and I'll take you where you can hear a bird sing that strain, then you may judge for yourself."
"I don't believe it!" said Mrs. Minturn tersely, "but if it were true, that would be the most wonderful experience I ever had in my life."
"And it would cost you only ten cents," scored Leslie. "You needn't ride beyond the end of the car line for that, while a woman who can dance all night surely could walk far enough, to reach any old orchard. That's what I am trying to tell you. Money in large quantities isn't necessary to provide the most interesting things in the world, while millions don't bring happiness. I can find more in what you would class almost poverty."
"Why don't you try it?" suggested Mrs. Minturn.
"But I have!" said Leslie. "And I enjoy it! I could go with a man I love as I do Daddy, and make a home, and get joy I never have found in society, from just what we two could do with our own hands in the woods. I don't like a city. If Daddy's business didn't keep him here, I would be in the country this minute. Look at us poor souls trying to find pleasure in a basket from the swamp, when we might have the whole swamp. I'd be happy to live at its door. Now try a basket full of it. There are three. You are to examine each of them carefully, then write on a slip of paper which you think the most artistic. You are not to say things that will influence each other's decisions, or Mr. Lowry's. I want a straight opinion from each of you."
They entered the florist's, and on a glass table faced the orchids, the slippers, the fringed basket, and the moccasins. Mr. Winton and the squaw were waiting, while the florist was smiling in gratification, but the Minturns went to the flowers without a word. They simply stood and looked. Each of the baskets was in perfect condition. The flowers were as fresh as at home in the swamp. Each was a thing of wondrous beauty. Each deserved the mute tribute it was exacting. Mrs. Minturn studied them with gradually darkening face. Mrs. Minturn repeatedly opened her lips as if she would speak, but did not. She stepped closer and gently turned the flowers and lightly touched the petals.
"Beautiful!" she said at last. "Beautiful!"
Another long silence.
Then: "Honestly Leslie, did you hear a bird sing that strain from
Martha?"