My Friends in their Gardens 
was all she wanted, and she was wont to be wroth when, in 
the excitement of gardening in the summer, John delayed 
to come and eat his supper. But the little grandchild took 
an interest in the flower-bed, and would willingly have 
pursued amateur culinary researches with the bulbs; she 
was about five or six, and used to sit on the doorstep, 
nursing a black doll the “ Leddy up at the hoose ” had 
given her, a curious contrast to Bella’s golden hair and 
apple-blossom face. I don’t think Burnet liked big flowers, 
I never saw any Hollyhocks in his little place, though they 
flourished in some of the neighbours’ gardens well. He had 
Violets and a few Pinks and Hyacinths, and an old bush of 
Wallflower, that never seemed to mind being knee-deep 
under the snow every winter, put on as early as might be 
its brown velvet suit and scented the air around it. Once 
Bella was told to hand me three Snowdrops through the 
railings, and I think that was the only time I ever saw 
Burnet pick any of his flowers ; he used to say he could not 
bear to condemn “thae bonnie things to deeth.” And it 
was quite by chance I discovered he used to take a bunch 
of his best blooms every Sabbath afternoon to a poor bed- 
ridden boy down the road who could not get out to see 
them for himself. I met Burnet once at Lame Gibbie’s, 
and so found it out. And never was any one more shame- 
faced than John when I laughed and said : “ So that’s where 
your flowers go, John ! ” as we left the cottage together. 
There are no flowers there now, the broad lands of the 
Laird have fallen into the dirty hands of the “ deil’s spawn,” 
as his mail-clad ancestors used to term a lawyer. An Edin- 
burgh writer reigns up at the “ Hoose,” and Burnet’s little 
bark, like others, went under when that gallant ship, The 
Laird, foundered on the Sea of Life. 
303 
