spend a long day with Mrs. Bellairs, at a farm in the country, which
belonged, jointly, to her and her sister. The whole family were to drive
out from Cacouna in the morning, calling for Lucia, and were to bring
her back in the evening.

"Let us go this way," said Mrs. Bellairs, turning to the steps which led
down into the garden. Lucia followed her. "You have not seen my new
roses," she said. "Do come and look at them."

"Bella told me you had some fine ones," answered Mrs. Bellairs, "but I
have not patience to look at my neighbours' flowers this year, mine have
been such a failure."

"These certainly are not a failure," said Mr. Percy, as they reached a
bed of beautiful roses in full bloom. "Have you any flower-shows in
Canada? You ought to exhibit, Miss Costello."

Lucia laughed. "What chance should I have? They say an amateur never can
compete with a professed gardener, and ours is all amateur work."

"Is it possible? Do you mean to say that you do actually cultivate your
flowers with your own hands?"

"Certainly, with a little help from my friends." She was about to say
"from Maurice," but changed the phrase. "If you saw me at work here in
the mornings, you would at least give me credit for trying to cultivate
them."

"Should I? You tempt me to take a peep into your Eden some morning when
you are gardening."