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"If you mean a flower-seller or a flute-player or something of that kind " "How could I dare to suggest anything so improper?" Lysias hastily interposed. "The girl of whom I speak may be sixteen years old; she is innocence itself incarnate, and she looks like a bud ready to open perhaps in the morning dew that may succeed this very night, but which as yet is still enfolded in its cup.
"'Tis the faeries' own day, afther all," chuckled the flower-seller as he eyed the tiny gold disk in his palm; then he remembered, and called after the diminishing figure of the nurse: "Hey, there! Mind what ye do wi' them blossoms. They be's powerful strong magic." And he chuckled again.
But the rest that passes or stops will see naught but yellow flowers in a basket, I'm thinkin'." And the flower-seller set to shaking his head sorrowfully. "Perhaps not. There are the children " "Aye, the childher; but the most o' them be's gettin' too terrible wise." "I know I know but mine aren't. I'm going to take my children back as many as I can carry."
But I can remind you that May Eve is one of the most bewitched and bewitching times of the whole year reason enough to account for any number of strange happenings; and I can point out to your notice that Margaret MacLean, in charge of Ward C at Saint Margaret's, found the flower-seller at the corner of the street that morning with his basket full of primroses.
The flower-seller had slipped an arm about the child's shoulders and felt them trembling, and though an instant alarm had filled her own heart, she made light of the matter to give her favorite comfort. "What do I s'pose? Well, then, I s'pose he's stayin' away lest them rich folks what runs the 'Harbor' comes again an' catches him unbeknownst. Don't you go fret, honey. Had your supper?"
"Oh . . . !" This time it was in ecstasy; she had spied the primroses in the basket just as the sunshine splashed over the edge of the corner building straight down upon them. Margaret MacLean dropped to one knee and laid her cheek against them. "The happy things you can hear them laugh! I want all all I can carry." She looked up quizzically at the flower-seller.
"Don't you be afraid, honey. We wouldn't see you abused. We only want to help you. That is why we have been searching for you." "You been huntin' me up jest to help me?" gasped Inez, in wonder. "Of course we have," said Bess. "Hi!" exclaimed the flower-seller, with an impish grin.
To these they have added other types, which every Andalusian can recognise as old friends the sharp-tongued harridan, the improviser of couplets with his ridiculous vanity, the flower-seller, and the 'prentice-boy of fifteen, who, notwithstanding his tender years, is afflicted with love for the dark-eyed heroine.
She had a tired and almost toothless smile; but had it not been for her greasy wrapper, uncombed hair and grimy nails, Mother Beasley might have been rather attractive. "Good afternoon, dearies," she said. "Dinner's most over; but maybe we can find something for you. You goin' to eat, Inez?" "Ev'ry chance't I get," declared the flower-seller, promptly. "Sit right down," said Mrs.
But the latter got Nan and Bess to an "isle of safety" in a hurry, and would then have darted away into the crowd without waiting to be thanked, had not Nan seized the handle of her basket. "Wait!" she cried. "Don't run away." "Hey!" said the flower-seller, "I ain't got time to stop and chin-chin. I got these posies to sell." "Sell us two," Nan commanded. "Wait!" "Aw right.
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