1 8 WILD FLOWERS OF THE PACIFIC COAST. 



"Too bad he could not go," I said. 



"Yes, I just begged him to go, but 'twas no use. 'Mother 

 has never seen you or Annie,' he said, 'and you can tell her all 

 about how I look, and I can't leave the ranche ; you must go.' 

 I wonder if he's left the station ? ' 



"Yes, I saw him get in his wagon and drive away." 



"Oh! did you? How did he look? Poor Papa," and 

 the child's eyes filled with tears. 



I called her attention to some flowers along the road. She 

 brightened up at once, and suddenly turning to me, asked, " Do 

 you like wild flowers ? " 



" Yes, indeed I do ; do you ? " 



" I just love them. Mamma, where is my basket ? Oh, 

 here it is," and removing the paper she showed me some beau- 

 tiful wild poppies. She had taken them with the earth about 

 them so carefully, they looked as if they had not been disturbed. 



' I am taking them to grandmother. Father said she was 

 sure to like them." 



" I know she will. Do you stop in San Francisco ? ' I 

 inquired. 



Yes, one day, with a cousin," she answered. 



I asked the privilege of keeping the flowers for the day. 

 I wanted to paint them, because they were the finest I had ever 

 seen, and as a remembrance of the little party I had met. As 

 you look at them, you can think of the trip they took, and we 

 may hope some of their descendants are now growing in the 

 grandmother's garden. 



