“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 of blossoms.  Daisy gave only half an eye to her driving; and it was not till she had almost reached Melbourne gate that she discovered her trowel had been forgotten.  She sent her attendant back for it and waited.

Loupe was always willing to stand, lazy little fat fellow that he was; and Daisy was giving her undivided attention to the purple “Jewess,” with a sort of soft prayer going on all the while in her heart that her errand might be blessed; when she was suddenly interrupted.

“Why where are you going, Daisy?”

“Where have you been, Preston?” said Daisy as suddenly drawing up.

“Little Yankee!” said Preston.  “Answer one question by another in that fashion?  You mustn’t do it, Daisy.  What are you doing?”

“Nothing.  I am waiting.”

“What are you going to do, then?”

“I am going to drive.”

“Do you usually carry a pot of geraniums for company?”

“No, not usually,” said Daisy smiling at him.

“Well set out the pot of geraniums, and we will have a glorious ride, Daisy.  I am going to the Fish’s, to see some of Alexander’s traps; and you shall go with me.”

“O Preston—­I am sorry; I cannot.”

“Why?”

“I cannot this afternoon.”

“Yes, you can, my dear little Daisy.  In fact you must.  Consider—­I shall be going away before very long, and then we cannot take rides together.  Won’t you come?”