The shopman lifted down the jar very carefully, and the captain took off the cover, and pulled out some tulip roots. “You seem, by the quantity of seeds you have got, to belong to a gardener. Are you fond of gardening?” said he to Maurice.
“Yes, sir,” replied Maurice, “very fond of it; for my father is a gardener, and he lets me help him at his work, and he has given me a little garden of my own.”
“Then here are a couple of tulip-roots for you; and if you take care of them, I’ll promise you that you will have the finest tulips in England in your little garden. These tulips were given to me by a Dutch merchant, who told me that they were some of the rarest and finest in Holland. They will prosper with you, I’m sure, wind and weather permitting.”
Maurice thanked the gentleman, and returned home, eager to show his precious tulip-roots to his father, and to a companion of his, the son of a nurseryman, who lived near him. Arthur was the name of the nurseryman’s son.
The first thing Maurice did, after showing his tulip-roots to his father, was to run to Arthur’s garden in search of him. Their gardens were separated only by a low wall of loose stones: “Arthur! Arthur! where are you? Are you in your garden! I want you.” But Arthur made no answer, and did not, as usual, come running to meet his friend. “I know where you are,” continued Maurice, “and I’m coming to you as fast as the raspberry-bushes will let me. I have good news for you—something you’ll be delighted to see, Arthur!—Ha!—but here is something that I am not delighted to see, I am sure,” said poor Maurice, who, when he had got through the raspberry-bushes, and had come in sight of his own garden, beheld his bell-glass—his beloved bell-glass, under which his cucumbers were grown so finely—his only bell-glass, broken to pieces!
“I am sorry for it,” said Arthur, who stood leaning upon his spade in his own garden; “I am afraid you will be very angry with me.”
“Why, was it you, Arthur, broke my bell-glass! Oh, how could you do so?”
“I was throwing weeds and rubbish over the wall, and by accident a great lump of couch-grass, with stones hanging to the roots, fell upon your bell-glass, and broke it, as you see.”
Maurice lifted up the lump of couch-grass, which had fallen through the broken glass upon his cucumbers, and he looked at his cucumbers for a moment in silence—“Oh, my poor cucumbers! you must all die now. I shall see all your yellow flowers withered to-morrow; but it is done, and it cannot be helped; so, Arthur, let us say no more about it.”
“You are very good; I thought you would have been angry. I am sure I should have been exceedingly angry if you had broken the glass, if it had been mine.”