"Oh, mamma," she called, "come quick! Something is surely the matter
with brother Hobart!"

"The dingle-bells are dying," said her mother, after looking carefully
at the flowers; "but the reason is that the cold winds from the sea
swept right over your garden last night, and dingle-bells are delicate
flowers and grow best where they are sheltered by the woods. If you
had planted them at the side of the house, as I wished you to, the
wind would not have killed them."

Mary did not reply to this, but sat down and began to weep, feeling at
the same time that her mother was right and it was her own fault for
being so contrary.

While she sat thus the Squire rode up, and called to her

"Fie, Mary, fie! Why do you cry;
And blind your eyes to knowing
How dingle-bells and cockle-shells
And cowslips all are growing?"

"Oh, Squire!" sobbed Mary, "I am in great trouble
"Each dingle-bell I loved so well
Before my eyes is dying,
And much I fear my brother dear
In sickness now is lying!"

"Nonsense!" said the Squire; "because you named the flowers after your
brother Hobart is no reason he should be affected by the fading of the