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Neither dared stir till the sound of departing feet reassured them; then creeping forward Amy drew in a lovely bouquet of myrtle, roses, and great German forget-me-nots, tied with a white ribbon and addressed in a dashing hand to La belle Helène. "Upon my life, the romance has begun in earnest," laughed Helen, as she examined the flowers.
But why keep all the flowers, the kind words, the tender feelings and thoughts, and the sympathetic tears until the one to whom they should be given passes away, and then come and let them fall so gently upon the casket?
How often had he read and heard that the first year of marriage is the most difficult. Of course it must be so. Two individualities cannot fuse without turmoil, without heat. Let him only make his effort. So he walked up to her and caught her in his arms. "Oh, George! my hair! and my flowers!" "Never mind," he said, almost with roughness. "Put your head there.
He had always fancied that these trees and flowers had a species of sight, that they watched him, the trees shyly out of their green foliage, the flowers with their bright unshrinking gaze.
On the marble mantel there stood two costly vases, filled with rare flowers, among which Mary recognized her favorites. But ere she had time to speak of it, Ida opened a side door, disclosing to view a cosy little bedroom, with a large closet and bathing room adjoining.
Some, however, had large clusters of yellow flowers which had a very ornamental effect on the sombre forest. But, although the exceptions were striking, he found that in Borneo, as elsewhere, flowers were scarcer than he had expected in an equatorial forest. There were, however, more than enough of striking and surprising things to engage the attention of our hero, and arouse his interest.
Not mostly!" answered the mother, with a tender smile. "A little longer, and thou needest not to be afraid to trace whose child she is. But how strangely beautiful she looks with those wild flowers in her hair! It is as if one of the fairies, whom we left in dear old England, had decked her out to meet us."
But the poet bade her farewell and remained under the porch, with the green branches shading him, and the flowers twining round the pillars, and the open door of his beautiful house behind him.
Before Redding could answer, Mrs. Wiggs broke in: "You'd be gittin' a artist, Mr. Bob! Them fingers of hers kin do anything. Last fall she built that there little greenhouse out of ole planks, an' kep' it full of flowers all winter; put a lamp in durin' the cold spell. You orter see the things she's painted. And talk about mud pictures!
Then the sweet, spicy odors came to him again, and he lifted the languid flowers Miss Schuyler had brought him, and put them in his glass of water.
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