THE BULBARIUM 219 



must on no account be kept too wet, but that 

 if they become dry, even for half an hour " 



" Like me," I suggested. " Mixing fibre's a 

 thirsty occupation." 



" If they get dry for even half an hour," he 

 repeated, " they go blind." 



" That's just what I meant." 



" Yes," he continued, " mother's bed's the 

 very place. She'll never know." 



" Poor mother !" I could not help remarking. 

 " Butchered to make a Roman Hyacinth !" 

 But the allusion was wasted upon my cousin. 



With a great deal of effort we carried the 

 bowls upstairs, one by one, and deposited them 

 beneath the maternal couch. \^lien at last our 

 labours were at an end we descended to the 

 library, thankful that our task was safely accom- 

 plished. 



As we entered the room George gave a sudden 

 start, and I saw his gaze riveted upon the 

 paper bags that strewed the writing-table. 



" Good Lord !" he gasped. 



" What is it ?" 



" We've forgotten the bulbs !" said George. 



