O, the beautiful thing! That the glass should have nothing to do with it,
after all! That Sary Jane, in flesh and blood, and tumbled hair, and
trembling, lean arms, should stand and shake an armful of church towers
and silver bells down into the Lady of Shalott's little puzzled face and
burning hands!

And that the Lady of Shalott should think that she must have got into
the glass herself, by a blunder,--as the only explanation possible of
such a beautiful thing!

"No, it isn't glass-dreams," said Sary Jane, winking at the church
towers, where they made a solemn, green shadow against the Lady of
Shalott's bent cheek. "Smell 'em and see. You can 'most stand the yard
with them round. Smell 'em and see! It ain't the glass; it's the Flower
Charity."

"The what?" asked the Lady of Shalott slowly.

"The Flower Charity."

"Heaven bless it!" said the Lady of Shalott. But she said nothing more.

She laid her cheek over into the shadow of the green church towers. "And
there'll be more," said Sary Jane, hunting for her wax. "There'll be
more, whenever I can call for 'em,--bless it!"

"Heaven bless it!" said the Lady of Shalott again.

"But I only got a lemon for dinner," said Sary Jane.