the sky; sweet-peas and scarlet runners scrambled over the box hedges and
about the rose-bushes; mallows and sweet-williams, asters and zinias and
phlox, crowded close together with a riotous richness of tint; scarlet
and yellow nasturtiums streamed over the ground like molten sunshine;
and, sparkling and glinting through the air, butterflies chased up and
down like blossoms that had escaped from their stems.

Lois had come out to pick some flowers for the numerous vases and bowls
which it was her delight to keep filled all summer long. She was
bareheaded, and the wind had rumpled the curls around her forehead; the
front of her light blue dress--she wore light blue in a manner which
might have been called daring had it implied the slightest thought--was
caught up to hold her lapful of flowers; a sheaf of roses rested on her
shoulder, and some feathery vines trailed almost to the ground, while in
her left hand, their stems taller than her own head, were two stately
sunflowers, which were to brighten the hall.

Mr. Forsythe caught sight of her as he closed the gate, and hurried
down the path to help her carry her fragrant load. He had, as usual, a
message to deliver. "Mother sends her love, Miss Lois, and says she isn't
well enough to go and drive this afternoon; but she'll be glad to go
to-morrow, if you'll take her?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" Lois cried, in her impetuous voice. "But I'm sorry
she's ill to-day."

Dick gave the slightest possible shrug of his square shoulders. "Oh, I
guess she's all right," he said. "It amuses her. But won't you give me
some flowers to take home to her?"