The Gardens and Anne watched her away, amazed at this sudden solution of a difficulty. They were not a little pleased that the Day Nursery was proving its right to exist, though it had been begun with light-hearted indifference, by doing a great service for a lonely woman, whose merit was so overlaid with misleading externals that it was hard to see what could have become of her without its refuge.
“And I know she’ll make the babies happier than almost any one else in all the world could!” said Jane, as if she were answering some one, though no one had made a comment.
“She’s very good indeed, kind and honest,” said Anne Kennington, who was keen to judge. “I’m sure she’ll make every child that comes near her quite wild over her, when she begins singing songs to them and amusing them; you can see she’s that sort! But, my heart, Mrs. Garden, dear, what slang they’ll learn from her!”
“Oh, no, Anne, perhaps not. We’ll try to get her to talk and dress less picturesquely,” said Mrs. Garden, who had whole-heartedly espoused the dethroned leading lady’s cause.
The afternoon ceremonies of Slumber Day were resumed and carried to their end. Win came home, as he had promised, to take part in the finale. He brought Mark with him; they had to be told of the singular guest and her prospective office, in spite of the rule against interrupting the routine of Slumber Day by conversation.
Joel Bell listened to the tale with, literally, open mouth. “Well, how little you can tell what’s around the corner before you turn it!” he said. “To think you’ve been the means of givin’ a sorrowful lady, an’ a lady without a way to git her bread, both comfort an’ bread an’ jam, so to speak!”
“Everything is done; the Slumber Day ceremonies are over,” announced Mary at last. “We have put the garden to sleep till another spring. Now our closing rite, then for supper! Mark, you may take part in it. We each in turn bid our garden sleep well till next year, and then we tell it what has been the best gift we have had this year, and ask it to make the gift grow and blossom next year. Florimel first; we begin at the youngest.”
“No, Chum and Lucky first!” laughed Florimel, and she held the cat’s, and then the dog’s, head close to the ground, under the sun dial, where this last event always took place.
“Good-night, sweet garden, our best friend. My best gift has been my home. Keep it and increase it another year for me,” she said in turn, for each. Then when she released them, Lucky ran up the lilac bush, and sat there, and Chum ran around and around the grass, tail out and mouth stretched, laughing, taking it all as a frolic.