n' voice. And says he, the man
says: "I'm a-pickin' posies. That's what I work at most o' the time. 'T
ain't for myself," he says, "but the one I work for. I'm on'y his help.
I run errands and do chores for him, and it's a partic'lar kind o' posy
he's sent me for to-day." "What for does he want 'em?" says the shet-up
posy. "Why, to set out in his gardin," the man says. "He's got the
beautif'lest gardin you never see, and I pick posies for 't." "Deary
me," thinks she to herself, "I jest wish he'd pick me. But I ain't the
kind, I know." And then she says, so soft he can't hardly hear her,
"What sort o' posies is it you're arter this time?" "Well," says the
man, "it's a dreadful sing'lar order I've got to-day. I got to find a
posy that's handsomer inside than 't is outside, one that folks ain't
took no notice of here, 'cause 'twas kind o' humly and queer to look at,
not knowin' that inside 'twas as handsome as any posy on the airth. Seen
any o' that kind?" says the man.

Well, the shet-up posy was dreadful worked up. "Deary dear!" she says to
herself, "now if they'd on'y finished me off inside! I'm the right kind
outside, humly and queer enough, but there's nothin' worth lookin' at
inside,--I'm certin sure o' that." But she didn't say this nor anything
else out loud, and bimeby, when the man had waited, and didn't get any
answer, he begun to look at the shet-up posy more partic'lar, to see why
she was so mum. And all of a suddent he says, the man did, "Looks to
me's if you was somethin' that kind yourself, ain't ye?" "Oh, no, no,
no!" whispers the shet-up posy. "I wish I was, I wish I was. I'm all
right outside, humly and awk'ard, queer's I can be, but I ain't pretty
inside,--oh! I most know I ain't." "I ain't so sure o' that myself,"
says the man, "but I can tell in a jiffy." "Will you have to pick me to
pieces?" says the shet-up posy. "No, ma'am," says the man; "I've got a
way o' tellin', the one I work for showed me." The shet-up posy never
knowed what he done to her. I don't know myself, but 'twas somethin'
soft and pleasant, that didn't hurt a mite, and then the man he says,
"Well, well, well!" That's all he said, but he took her up real gentle,
and begun to carry her away. "Where be ye takin' me?" says the shet-up
posy. "Where ye belong," says the man; "to the gardin o' the one I work
for," he says. "I didn't know I was nice enough inside," says the
shet-up posy, very soft and still. "They most gen'ally don't," says t