Rose turned. The pretty young lady of the pony-carriage, was standing beside her. Rose’s confusion was too deep for words. She felt for a minute as though she must run away, but thought better of it, and murmured something about the flowers being so beautiful, and about not wishing to intrude. The young lady’s answer was to stoop down and gather a handful of flowers, gowans, sweet peas, violets and mignonette. When she gave them into Rose’s hand she asked,—
“Is your sister very ill? I have seen the doctor going often to your house.”
“She is getting better now. She has been very ill. The doctor says she will soon be well.”
“And have you taken care of her all the time? Is there no one else?”
“I have taken care of her, Nelly Anderson and I, all the day, and our brothers are home at night.”
“I am glad she is getting better. Is she fond of flowers. Mr Stirling is thinking I haven’t arranged mine nicely, but you can do that when you put them in water, you know.”
“Oh! thank you. They are beautiful. Yes, Graeme is very fond of flowers. This will be like a bit of summer to her, real summer in the country, I mean. And besides, she has gathered gowans on the braes at home.”
“I am a Canadian,” said the young lady. “I never saw the ‘gowany braes,’ but I shall see them soon.”
They had reached the gate by this time.
“Come again, soon. Come into the garden, whenever you like. I am sure Mr Stirling will like to show you his flowers, you are so fond of them. I think a few of his would improve your bouquet.”