opportunity. He had been waiting half-an-hour among the ivy, when he saw
her just below him, fuzzling round and round like a kitten chasing
its tail. He sprang to the top of the wall.

"Have ye lost something?" he gasped.

"My posy," said poor Phoebe, lifting her sweet eyes, which were full of
tears.

A second spring brought Jack into the dust at her feet, where he
searched most faithfully, and was wandering along the path by which she
had come, when she called him back.

"Never mind," she said. "They'll most likely be dusty by now."

Jack was not used to think the worse of anything for a coating of dust;
but he paused, trying to solve the perpetual problem of his situation,
and find out what the little maid really wanted.

"'Twas only Old Man and marygolds," said she. "They're common enough."

A light illumined Jack's understanding.

"We've Old Man i' plenty. Wait, and I'll get thee a fresh posy." And he
began to reclimb the wall.

But Phoebe drew nearer. She stroked down her frock, and spoke mincingly
but confidentially. "My mother says Daddy Darwin has red bergamot i' his
garden. We've none i' ours. My mother always says there's nothing like
red bergamot to take to church. She says it's a deal more refreshing
than Old Man, and not so common. My mother says she's always meaning to
ask Daddy Darwin to let us have a root to set; but she doesn't often see
him, and when she does she doesn't think on. But she always says there's
nothing like red bergamot, and my Aunt Nancy, she says the same."

"_Red_ is it?" cried Jack. "You wait there, love." And before
Phoebe could say him nay, he was over the wall and back again with his
arms full.

"Is it any o' this lot?" he inquired, dropping a small haycock of
flowers at her feet.

"Don't ye know one from t'other?" asked Phoebe, with round eyes of
reproach. And spreading her clean kerchief on the grass she laid her
Bible and Prayer-book and class card on it, and set vigorously and
nattily to work, picking one flower and another from the fragrant
confusion, nipping the stalks to even lengths, rejecting withered
leaves, and instructing Jack as she proceeded.

"I suppose ye know a rose? That's a double velvet.[4] They dry sweeter
than lavender for linen. These dark red things is pheasants' eyes; but,
dear, dear, what a lad! Ye'd dragged it up by the roots! And eh! what
will Master Darwin say when he misses these pink hollyhocks And only in
bud, too! _There's_ red Berg