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"You wouldn't believe how soon you can lose the taste for it." Mr. Stiles said he would take his word for it. "You've got some nice little public-houses about here, too," he remarked. "There's one I passed called the Cock and Flowerpot; nice cosy little place it would be to spend the evening in." "I never go there," said Mr. Burton, hastily.
A flowerpot in which a number of small branches were fixed afforded opportunity for exercise in climbing, and a pleasant resting-place was formed by a half-cocoanut filled with cotton-wool and roofed over with dry moss, then slung by three wires in a tripod of sticks of corky-barked elm, a little hole for entrance being left at one side.
"There are so many beautiful potteries now that it is possible to something harmonious for every flowerpot." "You don't object to a silver centrepiece on the dining table, do you?" "That's the only place where it doesn't seem out of place," smiled Mrs. Emerson.
A small, rusty cookstove with no fire a rude table with no cloth a rickety cupboard with its shelves bare save for a few dishes two broken-backed chairs that was all. No, it was not all on a window ledge, beneath a bundle of rags that filled the opening left by a broken pane, was a small earthen flowerpot holding a single scraggly slip of geranium.
The gate in this was open now, and the new-made grave was one mass of white flowers, wreaths and crosses, snowdrops, hyacinths, camellias, and the like, and at the feet was a flowerpot with growing plants of the white hyacinth called in France 'lys de la Vierge. These, before they became frequent in England, had been grown in Mr. Dutton's greenhouse, and having been favourites with Mrs.
"Miss Marsch, I haf a great favor to ask of you," began the Professor, after a moist promenade of half a block. "Yes, sir?" and Jo's heart began to beat so hard she was afraid he would hear it. "I am bold to say it in spite of the rain, because so short a time remains to me." "Yes, sir," and Jo nearly crushed the small flowerpot with the sudden squeeze she gave it.
"Are you fond of flowers?" He brought from the adjoining room a porcelain flowerpot containing a narcissus in bloom. "Oh, what a charming flower!" cried the child, admiringly. "How I wish I might pluck just one!" "Help yourself, my dear," returned her host, pushing the plant toward her.
Five candles were now burning over there they were apparently fixed on a little Christmas tree which stood in a flowerpot. They twinkled like distant stars through the white curtain, and Madam Frandsen's voice sounded cracked and thin: "O thou joyful, O thou holy, mercy-bringing Christmas-tide!" Pelle opened his window and listened; he wondered that the old woman should be so cheerful.
Immediately she fixed her eyes upon me; and in watering the flowerpot with a hand whiter than alabaster, looked upon me with a smile, that inspired me with as much love for her as I had formerly aversion for all women.
"Did young Wilson get onything?" came the eager cry. "Nut him!" said John. "Fine, man! Damned, sir, I'm proud o' ye!" John went round the corner treading on air. For the first time in his life his father had praised him. He peeped through a kink at the side of the kitchen blind, where its descent was arrested by a flowerpot in the corner of the window-sill.
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