A BOUQUET OF MEADOW-SWEET 133 



As he picked the flowers a darning-needle 

 darted about his head, went away, and then came 

 back again. Philip didn't mind this in the least, 

 although whenever it came too close to him he 

 brushed it away with his little white cap. There 

 didn't seem to be much to do just then, so he 

 walked slowly toward home. The sun was very 

 hot in the meadow, and to keep it from fading 

 the flowers he held them under his cap. Philip 

 was tired, and when he came to a tree by the last 

 fence he sat down under it to rest. Soon he laid 

 his head on the soft grass, and before he could 

 think of anything he was sound asleep. 



He dreamed that he was somewhere in New 

 England, and that he saw Francis quite as plainly 

 as he had ever done when he was awake. Francis 

 stood beside a Rhododendron bush, and he was 

 shaking hands with a very little man. Philip 

 knew the bush was a Rhododendron because it 

 looked exactly like those the gardener had planted 

 at Warley Towers, and which should bear beau- 

 tiful bunches of lavender flowers in July. But 

 there were no flowers on the bush Philip dreamed 

 about ; there were only large, shiny buds. 



The little man was one of the funniest creatures 

 in the whole world. He was no taller than the 

 Rhododendron bush and he had a tiny cap on his 

 head that looked like a box. Half of his clothes 

 was red and the other half was white, while the 

 buttons down the front and those on his shoes were 



