isy saw with great pleasure that another bud was getting
ready to open and already shewing red between the leaves of its green
calyx; and she went home happy.

Next morning she went among the flower beds, and took a very careful
survey of all the beauties there to see what best she might take for her
next attack upon Molly. The beauties in flower were so very many and so
very various and so delicious all to Daisy's eye, that she was a good
deal puzzled. Red and purple and blue and white and yellow, the beds
were gay and glorious. But Daisy reflected that anything which wanted
skill in its culture or shelter from severities of season would
disappoint Molly, because it would not get from her what would be
necessary to its thriving. Some of the flowers in bloom, too, would not
bear transplanting. Daisy did not know what to do. She took Logan into
her confidence, so far as she could without mentioning names or
circumstances.

"Weel, Miss Daisy," said the gardener, "if ye're bent on being a Lady
Flora to the poor creature, I'll tell ye what ye'll do--ye'll just take
her a scarlet geranium."

"A geranium?" said Daisy.

"Ay. Just that."

"But it would want to be in the greenhouse when winter comes."

"Any place where it wouldn't freeze," said Logan. "You see, it'll be in
a pot e'en now, Miss Daisy--and you'll keep it in the pot; and the pot
you'll sink in the ground till frost comes; and when the frost comes,
it'll just come up as it is and go intil the poor body's house, and make
a spot of summer for her in her house till summer comes again."

"O Logan, that is an excellent thought!"

"Ay, Miss Daisy--I'm glad ye approve it."

"And than she would have the flowers all winter."

"Ay--if she served it justly."

The only thing now was to choose the geranium. Daisy was some time about
it, there were so many to choose from. At last she suited herself with a
very splendid new kind called the "Jewess"--a compact little plant with
a store of rich purple-red blossoms. Logan murmured as he took up the
pot in which it was planted--"Less than the best will never serve ye,
Miss Daisy"--but he did not grumble about it after all, and Daisy was
content.

She was very content when she had got it in her pony chaise and was
driving off, with the magnificent purple-red blossoms at her feet. How
exquisitely those delicate petals were painted, and marked with dashes
of red and purple deeper than the general colour. What rich clusters