“Mercy, Billy,” interrupted Mary Frances, “please explain those last two long words.”
“‘Professional floriculturists,’” explained Billy, “are men who raise flowers as a profession or business.”
“Thank you,” said Eleanor.
The children were in the rose arbor, where the girls had begged him to give them a lesson on roses.
“Because,” Eleanor had said, “roses are my favorite flowers.”
“Mine, too, except violets,” Mary Frances had added.
“The result of this specializing,” resumed Billy, “is that there are many beautiful new kinds of roses constantly being introduced into our country, for while a good many new roses have been produced here, the most have been produced by growers across the ocean, in Ireland and France.”
“I never knew that,” exclaimed Eleanor. “I thought that roses were—just roses.”
“So did I!” declared Mary Frances. Then suddenly, “Oh, here comes mother! Don’t stop talking, Billy! Mother will love to hear!”
“Oh, I don’t think—” began Billy.