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They say that even a Jersey toad will die if it is taken to Guernsey." "Neither will Guernsey flowers blossom here," Edith added. "Oh, there's Miss Connie!" The little lady of Laurel Manor was standing before one of the flower-stalls, chatting in French with a very clean, rosy-cheeked old woman in a white cap.

The goods on the needlework-stalls represented the work of weeks there were flower-stalls, sweet-stalls, produce-stalls, book-stalls, and in and out of the crowds girls went selling raffle-tickets for everything under the sun from tray-cloths to automobiles and trips to Sydney.

They crossed the square in front of Travalini's, lingered at the flower-stalls, refused the girls' pressure to buy, and strolled on. "I'm sick of Travalini's," said Pennell. "Don't let's go in there." "So am I," said Peter. "Let's stroll down towards the sea." They turned down a side-street, and stood for a few minutes looking into a picture and book shop.

In the market, at morning, his eyes were always on the flower-stalls for rare bouquets for her, and the choicest peach or orange was slipped into his pocket to give to her when he came back; and the sight that pleased him most was her sunny head looking out the gate for his distant approach, and her childish questions, "Well, Uncle Tom, what have you got for me today?"

It was market-day, and the old fruit-woman under the green umbrella, the toy-man with the clockwork monkeys, the flower-stalls and the vegetable-sellers, all these were here; in the centre of the square, sheep and pigs were penned.

A market of flowers is held in an open square and on the chief bridge over the river; here wreaths of immortelles, which grow wild in the meadows and woods, are sold in great profusion and deck the houses of Riga for long afterwards. Roses, too, are now at the prime of their beauty, and masses of them adorn the flower-stalls.

With contrasted remembrance he went back to the guarded procession of boys from the lyceum in France, the flower-stalls, and the bird-market, the larks singing merrily in their small wicker cages. Yes, he had them the two lines he wanted a poet's condensed statement of the thought he could not fully phrase: Ah! the lark! He hath the heaven which he sings, But my poor hawk hath only wings.