^50 READY FOR BULB-PLANTING 
“My boy must show you around to-day,” he 
said. 
I looked for Little Joseph, but already he was 
on the tennis court, so Mr. Percy and I started 
down the long walk that leads tO' the glass houses. 
“We will not bother to go into them all,” he 
said, “but in this one I will pick you such a bouquet 
as you should always have.” 
We stepped into a part of the house where roses 
grew and where they were all pink, perfect and 
waxy, while at their base, hanging over the raised 
beds, were quantities and quantities of heliotrope. 
In this warm house it grew prolifically, more like a 
vine, in fact, than the upright plants in our bed at 
the Six Spruces. 
“Do not pick it,” I said. “It will only wilt, 
since we have not hot water in which to put it.” 
“But it goes so well with the roses,” Mr. Percy 
replied, “and the two together go so well with you.” 
It was not a bouquet that he gave me, but an 
armful of flowers, pink roses and heliotrope. As 
we were leaving the house, we passed the head 
gardener. I saw him give Mr. Percy a very severe 
look. 
“If they had been mayflowers on some wooded 
bank, or columbines,” Mr. Percy said, “I should 
not have dared to pick so many, even for you. Miss 
Amanda. The wildlings need protection. But 
gardeners exist for the purpose of giving us pink 
roses and heliotrope.” 
