"Lots of what, Miss Hoodie?" asked Lucy, thinking her charge the oddest child she had ever had to do with.
"Of p'imroses," said Hoodie. "That's what I came for, to plant them on birdie's grave, you know, Lucy."
"Primroses," repeated Lucy. "Of course not now, Miss Hoodie. They're over long ago. See, these are their leaves—lots of them."
She stooped as she spoke, and pointed out the primrose plants clustering thickly at their feet. Hoodie stooped too, to look at them.
"Oh dear," she exclaimed. "Are the flowers all gone? What shall I do? If we unplanted one, Lucy, and took it home, and watered it lots, twenty times a day p'raps, wouldn't more flowers come?"
