Mr. Dickinson was silent a little while, then said, "I do not see what I can do, for I cannot have children here, that is certain."
"May I bring little Jessie with me to-morrow, and show you that she, like William Temple, can walk through a garden without plucking a leaf?"
"If she be cautioned beforehand," said Mr. Dickinson.
"No," said I, "I will give her no cautions."
The children were now again beside us, and William, who had heard the last part of our conversation, called out, "Oh yes, Uncle, let Jessie come—do—she is the greatest gardener in the country, and taught me a great deal,—now I will see if she ever heard of Cac-tus Grand-iflo-ra," pronouncing every syllable with great emphasis.
"For once," said Mrs. Temple, smiling, "I will second William's request,—let the little girl come."
"Oh, certainly, certainly, ladies, let her come. I have no objection to her coming—but, remember, I make no promise to employ her father as my gardener."
"And, uncle, Mary Mackay too, I love Mary Mackay—pray, ask Aunt Kitty to bring her."
William's influence seemed irresistible, and I left Mr. Dickinson's with permission to bring both Mary and Jessie with me the next day.