's all the same to you."

CHAPTER VI

MONDAY MORNING

Mrs. Bruce was down on her knees caressing tiny Czar violets. Quite
early in the morning (before the breakfast things were washed or the
beds made) she had slipped on one of Dot's picturesque poppy-trimmed
hats and declared her intention of planting the bed outside the study
windows thick with these the sweetest-scented of all flowers.

"And all the time you are working and thinking and plotting, daddie
darling, the sweetest scents will be stealing round you," she said.

For some little time she was quite happy among her violets. But
presently a richly hued wall-flower called her attention to a cluster of
its blooms, drooping on the pebbly path for a careless foot to
crush,--all for the want of a few tacks and little shreds of cloth. A
heavily-blossomed rose-tree begged that some of its buds might be
clipped, and a favourite carnation put in its claim for a stake.

"So much to do!" said Mrs. Bruce, as she flitted here and there in the
old-fashioned garden, which was a veritable paradise to her. "The roses
_must_ be clipped, the violets _must_ be thinned, the carnations _must_
be staked. And there are the new seedlings to be planted. Oh, I _think_
I will take the week for my garden--and let the house go!"

A flush of almost girlish excitement was in her cheeks, her garden meant
so very much to her. Certainly the house had strong claims--and it was
Monday morning--the very morning for forming and carrying out good plans
and resolutions! Meals wanted cooking, cupboards and drawers tidying;
garments darning and patching! But then--the garden! Did it not also
need her. Ah! and did she not also need it!

Even as she hesitated, balancing duty with beauty, Betty's voice floated
out through the kitchen window, past the passion-fruit creeper and the
white magnolia tree, past the tiny sweet violets and the study windows,
right to where she stood among the roses and wall-flowers.

"I _am_ so tired of washing up," it said, "it wasn't fair of Dot. She
had four plates for her breakfast--_I_ only had one. She might remember
I've to go to school as well as her."

Then Mrs. Bruce advanced one foot towards the house, and in thought
wielded the tea-towel and attacked the trayful of cups and saucers that
she knew would be awaiting the tea-towel.

It was Cyril's voice that arrested her. It came from the kitchen too.

"What's washing up!" said Cyril contemptuously. "Wa