The Squire laughed at this reply, and patted her upon her head, and
then he continued,

"'T is aptly said. But prithee, maid,
Why thus your garden fill
When ev'ry field the same flowers yield
To pluck them as you will?"

"That is a long story, Squire," said Mary; "but this much I may tell you,

"The cockle-shell is father's flower,
The cowslip here is Robart,
The dingle-bell, I now must tell,
I 've named for Brother Hobart

"And when the flowers have lived their lives
In sunshine and in rain,
And then do fade, why, papa said
He 'd sure come home again."

"Oh, that 's the idea, is it?" asked the big bluff Squire, forgetting
his poetry. "Well, it 's a pretty thought, my child, and I think
because the flowers are strong and hearty that you may know your
father and brothers are the same; and I 'm sure I hope they 'll come
back from their voyage safe and sound. I shall come and see you again,
little one, and watch the garden grow." And then he said "gee-up" to
his gray mare, and rode away.

The very next day, to Mary's great surprise and grief; she found the
leaves of the dingle-bells curling and beginning to wither.