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Stockton, Frank Richard, 1834-1902

"The Magic Egg and Other Stories"



I had not the slightest doubt that she was fond of flowers,
and for her sake now, as I used to do for my own sake, I visited
the flower beds and borders. Not far from the house there was a
cluster of old-fashioned pinks which I was sure were not doing
very well. They had been there too long, perhaps, and they
looked stunted and weak. In the miller's garden I had noticed
great beds of these pinks, and I asked his wife if I might have
some, and she, considering them as mere wild flowers, said I
might have as many as I liked. She might have thought I wanted
simply the blossoms, but the next morning I went over to my house
with a basket filled with great matted masses of the plants taken
up with the roots and plenty of earth around them, and after
twenty minutes' work in my own bed of pinks, I had taken out all
the old plants and filled their places with fresh, luxuriant
masses of buds and leaves and blossoms. How glad she would be
when she saw the fresh life that had come to that flower-bed!
With light footsteps I went away, not feeling the weight of the
basket filled with the old plants and roots.

The summer grew and strengthened, and the sun rose earlier,
but as that had no effect upon the rising of the present
inhabitants of my place, it gave me more time for my morning
pursuits. Gradually I constituted myself the regular flower-
gardener of the premises. How delightful the work was, and how
foolish I thought I had been never to think of doing this thing
for myself! but no doubt it was because I was doing it for her
that I found it so pleasant.


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