peculiarities. He soon saw that the orchids and the rare blooms from
foreign lands did not appeal to her as did the old-fashioned flowers
she knew, and they made a little bargain that in the spring she should
have some beds of mignonette, phlox, verbenas, and moss rose. One
morning she watched him giving directions to one of the under-gardeners
for the potting of small plants for the spring.

"Mr. Donald," she said, "I wish I could plant somethin'. It's been
years since I dug around in the earth, and I want to plant somethin'
and see it grow."

"That's easy, ma'am," said Scotch Mr. Donald. "I'll fix a part of
the house here and you can plant what you want in it"; and after that
many mornings found Drusilla pottering happily around the
conservatory with a trowel, planting seeds or "slipping" plants as
she called it. It gave her something to do, and that was the one
thing she needed. She missed the active life, the "doing something."
Everything was done for her--she had no duties. She, who had passed
her life in service for others, here had only to mention a wish and
it was immediately carried out. She was not allowed even to look
after her clothing. As soon as an article was removed it was whisked
out of the room and when returned was brushed, mended, and ready for
use again.

One afternoon Drusilla sat down by the window to mend a tear on the
bottom of her skirt. Jeanne, coming into the room, quickly took the
garment from her.

"Madame, she must not do that. _Quelle horreur!_ I will attend to it
at once."