“Dear, good, kind Aunt Polly,” whispered the wee voice again. Once more Ray jumped to his feet but could not see the least sign of anybody.
All at once, as he looked around, he realized that he was in a strange place. He had wandered into Aunt Polly’s old-fashioned garden with its wealth of roses and its quaint beds of four-o’clocks and mignonette.
At least Ray supposed he was in her garden, but, as his eyes rested on the strange sight before him, he said to himself, “Surely this is not Aunt Polly’s beautiful garden.”
It looked dark and gloomy, and strangest of all, the flowers were all a peculiar shade of blue.
Ray walked to some rosebushes, and could scarcely believe his eyes, when he discovered great, blue roses.
“Who ever heard of a blue rose?” said Ray, stooping to smell of one.
There was not the least odor, and the little boy was disappointed.
“Old, blue roses,” muttered Ray. “I’d rather have red roses that scent the whole garden with their perfume.”
He tried some of the other flowers, and found the same story to be told of them. They were blue in color, and had not the slightest odor.
Ray walked all over the garden. He was getting very tired of the same blue shade to everything, when he happened to spy a narrow staircase, near the garden wall.