But as he opened the drawing-room door for her, his three children, who all this time had been in the garden, came running in at the window, and before he and Miss Fairbairn were seated, his two little boys, treading on Mrs. Walker’s crape, were thrusting some large handfuls of flowers almost into her face, while Anastasia emptied a lapful on to her knees.  Emily accepted them graciously.

“And so,” little Hugh exclaimed, “as father said we were not to have the gardens, we thought we had better gather all the flowers, because they are our own, you know,” he proceeded; “for we bought most of the bulbs with our own money; and they’re all for you.”

Hyacinths, narcissus, wallflowers, polyanthus, they continued to be held up for her inspection.

“And you’ll let us put them in water ourselves, won’t you?” said Bertram.

“Yes, she will, Bertie,” cried Hugh.

“Don’t tread on Mrs. Walker’s dress,” John began, and the sprites, as if in ready obedience, were off in an instant; but in reality they were gone to find vases for the flowers, Emily looking up with all composure, though a good deal of scrambling and arguing were heard through the open door.

“We found these in the pantry,” exclaimed the two little boys, returning, each with a dish in his hand.  “Nancy wanted to get some water, but we wouldn’t let her.”

“Come here,” exclaimed John with gravity; “come here, and shut the door.  Emily, I brought these imps on purpose to apologize for their high misdemeanours.”

Thereupon the two little boys blushed and hung their heads.  It was nothing to have taken the garden, but it daunted them to have to acknowledge the fault.  Before they had said a word, however, a shrill little voice cried out behind them—­

“But I can’t do my apologize yet, father, because I’ve got a pin in my cape, and it pricks, and somebody must take it out.”

“I cannot get the least pretence of penitence out of any one of them,” exclaimed John, unable to forbear laughing.  “I must make the apology myself, Emily.  I am very much afraid that these gardens were taken without leave; they were not given at all.”

“I have heard you say more than once,” answered Emily, with an easy smile, “that it is the privilege of the giver to forget.  I never had a very good memory.”

“But they confessed themselves that they took them.”

“Well, John, then if you said they were to apologize,” answered Emily, giving them just the shadow of a smile, “of course they must;” and so they did, the little boys with hot blushes and flashing eyes, the little girl with innocent unconsciousness of shame.  Then “Mrs. Nemily” rather spoilt the dignity of the occasion by taking her up and kissing her; upon which the child inquired in a loud whisper—­

“But now we’ve done our apologize, we may keep our gardens, mayn’t we?”

At this neither she nor John could help laughing.