"O grandpa," she exclaimed, suddenly, "wont you stop a minute and let me get out. I want to get some of that beautiful bittersweet."
"What do you want that for?" said he. "You can't get out very well."
"O yes, I can please, grandpa! I want some of it very much just one minute!'
He stopped, and Fleda got out and went to the roadside, where a bittersweet vine had climbed into a young pine tree, and hung it, as it were, with red coral. But her one minute was at least four before she had succeeded in breaking off as much as she could carry of the splendid creeper; for not until then could Fleda persuade herself to leave it. She came back, and worked her way up into the wagon with one hand full as it could hold of her brilliant trophies.
"Now, what good 'll that do you?" inquired Mr. Ringgan, good- humouredly, as he lent Fleda what help he could to her seat.
"Why, grandpa, I want it to put with cedar and pine in a jar at home; it will keep for ever so long, and look beautiful. Isn't that handsome? only it was a pity to break it."
"Why, yes, it's handsome enough," said Mr. Ringgan, "but you've got something just by the front door there, at home, that would do just as well what do you call it that flaming thing there?"
"What, my burning bush? O grandpa! I wouldn't cut that for anything in the world! It's the only pretty thing about the house; and, besides," said Fleda, looking up with a softened mien, "you said that it was planted by my mother. O grandpa! I wouldn't cut that for anything."
Mr. Ringgan laughed a pleased laugh. "Well, dear!" said he, "it shall grow till it's as big as the house, if it will."
"It wont do that," said Fleda. "But I am very glad I have got this bittersweet; this is just what I wanted. Now, if I can only find some holly "