"But you can't have a cheque to Order and Bearer at the same time."
"Can't I?" inquired Monica plaintively. "How can I take it, then?"
"That will be my business," whispered her companion mysteriously; then added loudly: "The little ones are being checked in the Counting House now. Be quick, or the pick of the choice will be gone."
"To Order," faltered Monica.
Whereupon her companion pushed the great door, which swung open, and the quaint pair quickly passed through. "They are always on order," remarked the Gardeness as she led Monica up a high flight of steps, "but we forward them in our own way. Excuse my question; it was a matter of form."
Now they were in the loveliest garden ever seen, and Monica gave a little sob of delight as she noticed that all around about her in every flower nestled the dearest, wee-est little baby imaginable, whilst hundreds of tiny creatures were tending them, drying the dew-drops from their big round eyes, and turning their little bald heads for more air, all the while humming a refrain which Monica recognised as her Mother's favourite one, called the "Bee's Wedding."
At first she marvelled silently at the beauty of the scene. Then, as she basked in the pervading warmth, she remembered having been surprised at seeing the moon and sun out at the same time, and now realised the moon was sunning its garden of babies.
"I've brought my bandbox," she remarked, laughing gaily.
"That's a good thing," replied her companion, "as it has to be a private transaction. Stoop down," and she drew Monica closer to the rows upon rows of the beautifullest roses, gently moved the petals of one of them, and revealed embedded in the heart of the rose its own sweet little baby.