ou know, Lucy."

"Primroses," repeated Lucy. "Of course not now, Miss Hoodie. They're
over long ago. See, these are their leaves--lots of them."

She stooped as she spoke, and pointed out the primrose plants clustering
thickly at their feet. Hoodie stooped too, to look at them.

"Oh dear," she exclaimed. "Are the flowers all gone? What shall I do? If
we unplanted one, Lucy, and took it home, and watered it _lots_, twenty
times a day p'raps, wouldn't more flowers come?"

[Illustration: "Oh dear," she exclaimed. "Are the flowers all gone?"]

"Not this year, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy. "Not all the watering in the
world would make any flowers come before the spring, and watering too
much would kill the plant altogether."

"Oh dear," repeated Hoodie, "what shall I do?"

"Won't no other flowers do?" said Lucy. "There's violets still, and lots
of others in the garden that Hopkins would give you--much prettier than
primroses."

"No," said Hoodie, shaking her head, "none but p'imroses would do.
Birdie liked them best, I know, for when I put some once in the wires of
his cage, he chirped. When will the spring come, Lucy?"

"Not for a good bit, Miss Hoodie," said Lucy, "it's only July now.
There's all the summer to go through, and then autumn when it begins to
get cold, and then all the cold winter, before the spring comes. A good
while--eight months, and there's more than four weeks in each month, you
know."

"I can't help it," said Hoodie, "only p'imroses will do. Please dig some
roots up, Lucy, and we'll plant them on birdie's grave. The green leaves
are a little pretty, and in the spring the flowers will come. And if I'm
dead before the spring," she added solemnly, "you mustn't forget to
water them all the same."

"Miss Hoodie!" said Lucy, reproachfully, "you should not talk that way
really. Your mamma wouldn't like it."

"Why not?" said Hoodie, "there's lots about deadening in the Bible and
in the church books, so it can't be naughty. I wouldn't mind, if only I
thought birdie was in heaven."

"We'd better be going on," said Lucy, rather anxious to give a turn to
the conversation, "or we'll be late for Martin and Miss Maudie. I've got
up two nice roots, and we may see some others that take your fancy as we
go on."

They made their way slowly through the wood--Hoodie peering about here
and there in search of primroses still, some two or three might, she
thought, possibly have been left behind, or some buds might