The gardener told Janie she might trim a few of the hats, if she cared to, as they were all ready to pick. Now, if there was one thing Janie liked more than another, it was to trim hats. So the gardener picked a number and allowed her to choose the ribbons and flowers.
She chose red, blue, pink and white ribbons, and roses, forget-me-nots, pansies and morning-glories. You must remember these were all dwarf flowers, much smaller than ours, and the gardener told her they were everlasting, and so would not wither.
Janie seated herself under a tree, from whose branches dainty parasols of all colors were dancing and nodding in the breeze. She would have been eager to pick them at any other time, but now with her lap full of such visions of beauty, she was blind to everything else about her. She arranged the bows and flowers, and soon had this lot of hats trimmed, and begged for more. Finishing a number she placed them in long rows on the shelves built for that purpose.
She then threw herself on the ground to rest, and, glancing up, saw the parasols.
She clapped her hands and bounded to her feet.
“O Mr. Gardener, can’t I have one?”
He said she might, and asked her which one she wanted.
