“Perhaps Miss Daisy had better let me manage it.  It’s dirty work, Miss Daisy.”

“No; I only want the rose bush.  I will take care of it, Logan.  Have you got one that I can have?”

“Ou, ay, Miss Daisy! there’s a forest of rose bushes; ye can just please yourself.”

“Where is it?”

[Illustration]

Seeing his little mistress was greatly in earnest and must be presently satisfied, Logan cast a wistful glance or two at his own proper work in hand which he was abandoning, and walked away with Daisy.  The flower garden and nursery were at some distance; but Daisy trudged along as patiently as he.  Her little face was busy-looking now and eager, as well as wise; but no tinge of colour would yet own itself at home in those pale cheeks.  Logan glanced at her now and then and was, as she said, “very good.”  He thought he was about the best business, after all, that could occupy him.  He directed his steps to a great garden that yet was not the show garden, but hid away behind the plantations of trees and shrubbery.  There were a vast number of plants and flowers here, too; but they were not in show order, and were in fact only the reserve stock, for supplying vacancies or preparing changes or especially for furnishing cut flowers to the house; of which a large quantity must every day be sent in.  There was a very nursery of rose trees, smaller and larger.  Logan peered about, very particular in his own line as to how every thing should be done; at last he found and chose just the right thing for Daisy.  A slender, thrifty young plant, with healthy strong leaves and shoots, and at the top a bud shewing red and a half opened sweet rose.  Daisy was quite satisfied.

“Now where is it going, Miss Daisy?” Logan inquired.

“I am going to plant it out myself, Logan; it is going in a place—­where I want it.”

“Surely! but does Miss Daisy know how to plant a rose tree?”

“Won’t you tell me how, Logan?”

“Weel, Miss Daisy, there must be a hole dug for it, in the first place; you must take a trowel and make a hole for it—­But your dress will be the waur!” he exclaimed, glancing at his little mistress’s spotless draperies.

“Never mind; only go on and tell me exactly how to manage, Logan.”

“Does Miss Daisy intend to do it this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Aweel, you must take a trowel and make a hole,” said Logan, nipping off some useless buds and shoots from the plants in his neighbourhood as he was speaking—­“and be sure your hole is deep as it should be; and make the bottom soft with your trowel, or throw in a little earth, well broken, for the roots to rest on”------

“How shall I know when my hole is deep enough?”

“Weel, Miss Daisy, it depends on the haighth of the roots—­ye must even try and see till ye get it deep enough; but whatever ye do, keep the crown of the plant above ground.”