And so they went on, jestingly.
“Menie,” said Arthur, suddenly, “what do you see in the fire?”
Menie was gazing with darkening eyes, in among the red embers. She started when her brother spoke.
“I see— Oh! many things. I see our old garden at home,—in Clayton, I mean—and—”
“It must be an imaginary garden, then. I am sure you canna mind that.”
“Mind it! indeed I do. I see it as plainly as possible, just as it used to be. Only somehow, the spring and summer flowers all seem to be in bloom together. I see the lilies and the daisies, and the tall white rose-bushes blossoming to the very top.”
“And the broad green walk,” said Harry.
“And the summer-house.”
“And the hawthorn hedge.”
“And the fir trees, dark and high.”