In another moment, the boat seemed to be resting on a living carpet of snow and gold. The lilies grew so thick that one could hardly see the water between them. Roger and Annet drew them in by handfuls, laying them in glistening piles in the bottom of the boat, and soon Joe laid down his paddle, and joined in the picking.
“Some pooty, be n’t they?” he said. “What d’ye cal’late ter sell ’em for, Roger?”
“For whatever I can get,” replied Roger, cheerfully. “I’ve never tried it before, but I know that plenty of boys do take them to the city from other ponds and streams. We are a little farther off, but I never saw any lilies so large as ours.”
“Nor so sweet!” cried Annet, burying her rosy face in the golden heart of a snowy cup. “Oh, how I love them!”
How the lilies must have wondered at the adventures that befell them after this! All night they lay in a great tub of water, which was well enough, though there was no mud in it. Then, at daybreak next morning they were taken out and laid on a bed of wet moss and covered with wet burdock leaves. Then came a long period of jolting, when the world went bumping up and down with a noise of creaking and rumbling, broken by the sound of human voices.
Finally, and suddenly, they emerged into the full glare of the sun, and found themselves in a new world altogether,—a street corner in a great city; tall buildings, glittering windows, crowds of men and women hurrying to and fro like ants about an ant-hill. Only the cool, wet moss beneath them, and the sight of their old friends, the cat-tails, standing like sentinels beside them, kept the lilies from fainting away altogether.
Roger looked eagerly about him, scanning the faces of the passers-by. Would this one buy? or that one? that pretty lady, who looked like a lily herself? He held out a bunch timidly, and the lady smiled and stopped.
“How lovely and fresh! Thank you!” and the first piece of silver dropped into Roger’s pocket, and chinked merrily against his jackknife. Then another young lady carried off a huge bunch of cat-tails, and a second piece of silver jingled against the first.
Soon another followed it, and another, and another, and Roger’s eyes danced, and his hopes rose higher and higher.
At this rate, the Physical Geography would be his, beyond a doubt. He saw it already,—the smooth green covers, the delightful maps within, the pictures of tropical countries, of monkeys and cocoanuts, elephants and—THUMP! His dream was rudely broken in upon by a gentleman running against him and nearly knocking him over,—an old gentleman, with fierce, twinkling eyes and a bushy gray beard.