The next morning, when Mary and her mother had dried their eyes, which had been wet with grief at the departure of their loved ones, the little girl asked earnestly,
"Mamma, may I make a flower-garden?"
"A flower-garden!" repeated her mother in surprise; "why do you wish a flower-garden, Mary?"
"I want to plant in it the cockle-shells and the cowslips and the dingle-bells," she answered.
And her mother, who had heard what the sailor had said to his little girl, knew at once what Mary meant; so she kissed her daughter and replied,
"Yes, Mary, you may have the flower-garden, if you wish. We will dig a nice little bed just at the side of the house, and you shall plant your flowers and care for them yourself."
"I think I'd rather have the flowers at the front of the house," said Mary.
"But why?" enquired her mother; "they will be better sheltered at the side."
"I want them in front," persisted Mary, "for the sun shines stronger there."
"Very well," answered her mother, "make your garden at the front, if you will, and I will help you to dig up the ground."