were arranged with a true artist's eye for colour and effect.

She did not say a word for a moment, but drew a long breath, while the
delicate pink in her cheeks deepened and her eyes lighted up. Then she
began going slowly from flower to flower, laying her face against the
cool, velvety purple of the pansies, touching the roses with her lips,
and tilting the white lily-cups to look into their golden depths.

As she passed from one to another as lightly as a butterfly might have
done, she began chanting in a happy undertone.

Ever since she had learned to talk she had a quaint little way of
singing to herself. All the names that pleased her fancy she strung
together in a crooning melody of her own.

There was no special tune. It sounded happy, although nearly always in a
minor key.

"Oh, the jonquils an' the lilies!" she sang. "All white an' gold an'
yellow. Oh, they're all a-smilin' at me, an' a-sayin' howdy! howdy!"

She was so absorbed in her intense enjoyment that she forgot all about
the old Colonel. She was wholly unconscious that he was watching or
listening.

"She really does love them," he thought, complacently. "To see her face
one would think she had found a fortune."

It was another bond between them.