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"I'm down," he said as he knelt beside her. "I'd go on my knees to find arbutus any day." "So would I Oh, look at this and this! They are perfect." She fairly trembled with joy as she uncovered the waxlike flowers of dainty pink and white. "I could bury my nose in them forever." "They are perfect," agreed the man. "Fancy living where you never saw any arbutus or had the joy of picking them."
A pair of huge spectacles, mounted on a somewhat stumpy nose, peered absently from side to side as he approached. "My daughters, Herr Schubert," said the tall lady, with a circumflex wave of her white hand that included the waxlike figures on each side the stove. They regarded him fixedly and primly. His glance darted from one to the other, and he smiled broadly.
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