“You’ll be at the flower-show to-morrow, won’t you?” said Mrs Bray.
“Well, yes, I think I shall go,” said Charley. “I suppose everybody will be there.”
“O, of course; Laura’s going. I suppose you send some things from the Court?”
“Yes,” said Charley; but he added, laughing, “What will be the use, when you are going to send such a prize blossom?”
“For shame, you naughty man!” said Mrs Bray. “I shall certainly tell Laura you’ve turned flatterer.”
“I say, Charley Vining,” squeaked a loud voice from the next window, “we’re going to beat you Court folks.”
“We are, are we?” laughed Charley, turning in the direction of the voice, which proceeded from a very tall angular young lady of sixteen—a tender young plant, nearly all stem, and displaying very little blossom or leaf. She was supported on either side by two other tender plants, of fourteen and twelve respectively, forming a trio known at the Elms as “the children.” “I’m very glad to hear it, Miss Nell; but suppose we wait till after the judge’s decision. But there goes the carriage. Good-bye, all!”
And turning his horse’s head, he soon overtook the brougham, when, after soothing Mr Dudgeon, the driver, with a shilling, the progress was pretty swift until they reached the tree, where, now finding shelter from the sun instead of the rain, yet stood Laura Bray and her companion.
“O, how good of you, Mr Vining! and to come back, too!” gushed Laura, with sparkling eyes. “I shall never be out of debt, I’m sure. I don’t know what I should have done if it had not been for you!”
“Walked home, and a blessed good job, too!” muttered Mr John Dudgeon.