A Blot on the Scutcheon

by Mabel Winifred Knowles

She laughed, ready enough to change from grave to gay.

"My hat is full. You must lend me yours." And she pointed to the flat, three-cornered hat on the bank. "Or, stay—my apron!"

She spread out a miniature muslin apron to hold a sweet burden of blossoms.

"You have been most diligent, sir."

"My name is Michael."

"You should be a saint then."

"Alas! Only a poor sinner, I fear, though I claim company with the angels."

"The angels?"

"One, gathering primroses, is enough for me. Do you come here every day?"

"My name is Gabrielle."