“That’s what you’ve been watching for, Tommy; that is the flower of the grass.”
Tommy looked at the Blue Lady in amazement. “Flowers do be blue an’ red,” he objected, “an’ my miggle thing’s green.”
“Tommy,” Annabel still in the doorway spoke in a supplicating voice. “Tommy, let me see the green grass-flower.”
The owner of the garden took not the least notice of her request.
Mammy, Daddy and the ladies had returned to the dinner they had left to see the wonder out-of-doors, so the children were alone.
Annabel drew nearer. “Which is it?” she asked, bending down, her hands on her knees.
“Go away,” said Tommy, kicking a loose stone in her direction. “I shan’t show ee my garden.”
“Tisn’t a garden,” retaliated Annabel. “My mother says it isn’t no garden, it’s just bits of grass.”
Deep down in Tommy’s heart there had sometimes been a suspicion that his garden was not quite as other people’s, but he had resolutely put the thought from him. Now Annabel’s scornful words strengthened his fears. He hit her quite hard, ran into the house and made his way upstairs so quickly that his toes hit the front of each step in his hurry. Into the ladies’ room he burst without the preliminary knock insisted upon by Mammy.