“Where is Norman?” asked Mrs. Lester anxiously of Mr. Campbell, a Scotch gentleman. “I do not see him anywhere.” The gentleman told her he would look for him, and in a few minutes he returned with the boy.
“Mother, I went up to that wood to gather some of these beautiful purple flowers for you, and for that young lady. She said she would like some of them, and I saw that the steamboat was so far off that I had time.”
“You should have told me where you were going, my child, and you would have spared me some moments of anxiety.”
“I am sorry, mother, but I was in no danger. I wanted to get some red berries for that young lady, but I could not find any.”
“You may have these,” replied his mother; “I do not want them;” and while Norman went to give his berries and flowers to the young lady, with whom he had had many pleasant talks on the Planet, his mother pressed the pretty spikes of purple flowers in her guidebook.
The English clergyman stayed that he might go around Lake Simcoe, of which most of the passengers thought they had seen enough. It was dark when they reached Toronto, and Norman did not see much, roused as he was from a sound sleep, till he walked through the stately halls and parlors of the Rossin House, and into his comfortable room.
CHAPTER XXII.
A SUNDAY IN TORONTO.
What spell has o’er the populous city pass’d!
The wonted current of its life is stay’d:
Its sports, its gainful schemes, are earthward cast,