"Don't you suppose she had a greenhouse, by the bye, Mary?" said Arthur.
"Oh, Arthur," cried Harry, "I do wish you'd be quiet: when you know it's a fairy story, and that Queens of that sort never had greenhouses or anything like we have now."
"And so the King's Apothecary and Herbarist, whose name was John Parkinson—"
"I shouldn't have thought he would have had a common name like that," said Harry.
"Bessy's name is Parkinson," said Adela.
"Well, I can't help it; his name was John Parkinson."
"Drive on, Mary!" said Arthur.
"And he made her a book, called the Book of Paradise, in which there were pictures and written accounts of her flowers, so that when she could not see any of them fresh upon the ground, she could read about them, and think about them, and count up how many she had."
"Ah, but she couldn't tell. Some of them might have died in the winter," said Adela.
"Ah, but some of the others might have got little ones at their roots," said Harry. "So that would make up."