"My dear, this lovely person is not looking well to-day. Something is wrong with her."
"Oh, Uncle, I am sorry. She had her bath last night, I know, for I gave it to her myself. What do you think is the matter? To me, she looks as silvery-lovely as usual; but you have a special pair of eyes, I know, for roses."
"I fear—I think—ah! here he is, the beast! Yes, Margaret; a caterpillar, curled up—see him! Right in the heart of this exquisite bud. No wonder the whole plant has sickened; she is very sensitive, La France. There, Madame, he is gone. Now, a little shower of quassia, just to freshen you up; eh? See, Margaret, how gratefully the beautiful creature responds. Now, Jack here,"—he passed on to a Jacqueminot rose, covered with splendid crimson blossoms,—"Jack is thick-skinned, quite a rhinoceros by contrast with La France or the Bride. Here are—one—two—five—my patience! here are seven aphides on his poor leaves, and yet he has not curled up so much as the edge of one. Take him for all in all, Jack is as good a fellow as I know. Responsive, cordial, ready for anything—not expecting to have the whole world waiting on him, as some of these people do—ah, Hugh! Finished your letters? That's right!"
Hugh Montfort, who had come in unobserved, was leaning on his stick, watching them with some amusement.
"Who is this Jack, if I may ask, Uncle John? He seems to be a rather remarkable sort of chap."
Mr. Montfort looked slightly confused. "Only my fantastic way of speaking of my roses," he said. "They seem like real people to me, and I am apt to call them by their names. A shame, to be sure, to take such liberties with the General. Permit me to present you in due form! M. le Général Jacqueminot, I have the honor to present to you Mr. Hugh Montfort, my nephew, and—may I say admirer? The General is sensitive to admiration."
"You may indeed!" said Hugh, bowing gravely to the splendid plant. "General, your most obedient servant! I have known others of your family, some of them, I may say, intimately, and I can truly say that I never saw a finer specimen of the race."
The General glowed responsive, and Mr. Montfort glowed too, with pleasure. "Fond of roses?" he said; "that's good! that's good! why, boy, you seem to have a great many of my tastes. How's that, hey? your father never knew one flower from another."
There was a very tender light in Hugh's eyes as he returned his uncle's look. "When I was a little chap, sir," he said, "my father used to tell me a good deal about you and Uncle Roger, the two best fellows he ever knew. I used to think—and I think still—that if I could be like them in anything I should do well; so I took to flowers because you loved them, and to books because they were Uncle Roger's delight. The big things seemed pretty big, but I thought the little ones would be better than nothing."
The glow deepened on John Montfort's cheek, and the light in his eyes; in Margaret's eyes the quick tears sprang; and with one impulse she and her uncle held out their hands. Hugh grasped them both, and there was a moment of silence that was better than speech. Hugh was the first to break it. "I have two new friends!" he said, in his sweet, cordial voice. "This day is better than I dreamed, and that is saying a good deal. But now, go on with the roses, Uncle John, please; there are several kinds here that I do not know. What is this cream-colored beauty?"