"Why, in big cities, at almost any of the important business corners, you will see little boys and girls selling sweet peas and daisies and—yes, they sometimes sell cowslips and wood violets, but only in bunches—never in such cunning little baskets. Why, tucked down in that damp moss, your flowers will keep fresh for hours; while a bunch from a city flower-seller's stock withers as soon as it is taken out of water."
"Would folks in Martindale buy them?"
"Yes, indeed! They are a breath from the woods, and lots of people would be glad to get them. You see—"
"Peace Greenfield, it's time to start! Do you want to be late the last day of school?"
"That's Cherry. I must go. I wish I could stop and talk some more. When you finish your breakfast, just take the dishes around to the kitchen steps, and—if you have time and want to do it—you might weed those flower gardens in the front yard and the onion patch behind the shed. If you don't, I'll have to, and you 'member I gave you some extra lunch that you wouldn't have got if it hadn't been for me—and a few matches. Promise you won't light a fire till you get a long way from our house, will you? Gail won't give tramps matches for fear they will set the buildings on fire. And say, the lawn-mower is right beside the front porch, if you should happen to want to cut the grass—just the little piece fenced in, you know. The rest is for hay. And the ball of twine for stringing up Hope's vines is stuck in the hole of the porch railing nearest the door—you can find it easy enough. The rain barrel is behind the house, and—yes, yes, Cherry, I am coming this very minute! I hope you have liked your nice breakfast, and will come some other time and split more wood for us. Good-bye, Mr. Tramp, I've got to go."
CHAPTER II
THE MINISTER'S RECEPTION
"Are you ready, Cherry?"
"Almost," came the muffled reply from the stiffly-starched little figure sitting on the floor struggling with a broken shoe-string. "Why, Peace, where are you going?"