Miss Fletcher’s face changed.  This was a contingency that had not occurred to her.

“Oh, do say yes,” persisted the child.  “I want you to see my flowers, and Flossie says she’d love to.  I’ll come up and wheel her down there.”

“Flossie can go some day, yes,” replied aunt Hazel reluctantly; “but I don’t visit much.  I’m set in my ways.”

“Hannah, uncle Dick’s housekeeper, suggested it herself,” pursued Hazel, thinking that perhaps her own invitation was not sufficient, “and I know uncle Dick would be glad.  You said,” with sudden remembrance, “that you used to know him.”

Miss Fletcher’s lips were their grimmest.  “I’ve spanked him many a time,” she replied deliberately.

“Spanked him!” repeated the child, staring in still amazement.

The grim lips crept into a grimmer smile.  “Not very hard; not hard enough, I’ve thought a good many times since.”

Hazel recovered her breath.  “You knew him when he was little?”

“I certainly did.  No, child, don’t ask me to go out of my tracks.  You come here all you will, and if you’ll be very careful you can wheel Flossie up to your garden some day.  Come, now, are you going to read us that story?  I see you brought it.”

“Yes, I brought it,” replied Hazel, in a rather subdued voice.  She saw that there was some trouble between this kind, new friend and her dear uncle Dick, and the discovery astonished her.  How could grown-up people not forgive one another?

Miss Fletcher seated herself again with her sewing, and Hazel took the little white book and sat down close by the wheeled chair where Flossie was holding both the dolls.

“Do you like stories?” she asked.

“Yes, when they’re not interesting,” returned Flossie; “but when mother brings a book and says it’s very interesting, I know I shan’t like it.”

Hazel laughed.  “Well, hear this,” she said, and began to read:—­

* * * * *

Once there was a very rich man whose garden was his chief pride and joy.  In all the country around, people knew about this wonderful garden, and many came from miles away to look at the rare trees and shrubs, and the beautiful vistas through which one could gain glimpses of blue water where idle swans floated and added their snowy beauty to the scene.  But loveliest of all were the rare flowers, blossoming profusely and rejoicing every beholder.

It was the ambition of the man’s life to have the most beautiful garden in the world; and so many strangers as well as friends told him that it was so that he came to believe it and to be certain that no beauty could be added to his enchanting grounds.

One evening, as he was strolling about the avenues, he strayed near the wall and suddenly became aware of a fragrance so sweet and strange that he started and looked about him to find its source.  Becoming more and more interested each moment, as he could find only such blossoms as were familiar to him, he at last perceived that the wonderful perfume floated in from the public way which ran just without the wall.