Part 5 (1/2)

He began to dig with almost feverish haste, in his desire to get some more of the ground in order, and so absorbed did he become in the improvement he soon made, that he forgot about time and tea, and everything else.

A shout at last made him look up. It was a joyful shout from little Margery, who, catching sight of him at once, came flying along the path to him.

”Oh, daddy's got a garden, too!” she cried delightedly. ”Daddy is making a garden too! Oh, how nice! What are you going to grow in your garden, daddy? Flowers?”

”Ay, I must try and have a few flowers here and there; but I've got to have cabbages and leeks and potatoes, and all sorts of things in my garden,--things that ain't so pretty as flowers, but are more useful.”

Margery stood for a moment looking very soberly at the newly-turned earth, and holding tight a paper bag that she had been carrying very carefully all the time.

Suddenly she held the bag out to him. ”I'll give you that for your garden, daddy,” she said, eagerly, ”then you'll have a flower.”

Her father took the bag from her and began to open it. ”What is it?

What have 'ee got there, little maid?”

”It's a 'get-me-not root. Mr. Carter gave it to me for my garden; but I'll give it to you, daddy, 'cause there isn't anything pretty in your garden.”

The man's heart was very full as he looked in on the little root; then, without speaking, he laid it gently down, and taking his little girl very tenderly in his arms he kissed her.

”Daddy'll plant it this very minute, little one;” and to himself he added, ”and I'll plant it where I can see it best--in case I should forget again.”

A voice came calling down the path to them, ”Father, supper's ready.

Margery, come in to supper;” but the little forget-me-not had to be planted first, and Margery had to stay and help, of course. When it was firmly placed in the ground in a nice little puddle of water, and the earth pressed tightly about its roots, Margery stood back and gazed at it contentedly.

”I think it looks lovely there, don't you, daddy? and you see I've got my daisy and a marigold in my garden, so I have plenty; and p'raps I'll get something more 'nother day.”

That night, after supper was over and the children were in bed, William Hender went softly down the garden again to Margery's very neat but very bare little garden plot, and at the back of it, against the wall, he carefully planted a fine rose bush. He had brought it home with him on purpose for her, and, that the children might not see it, he had hidden it in the hedge in the lane until he had an opportunity of planting it, for he wanted it to be a surprise for the little maiden. All the time he was planting it he was picturing to himself what she would say and do when she first saw it; and he laughed to himself more than once, but very tenderly, as he pictured the surprise on her face.

In the morning he was up and dressed before any of them, and out in the garden at work. He had a glance first at the forget-me-not, and then at Margery's rose bush and daisy. All of which were looking very healthy and happy in their new surroundings. Then he began to dig up a piece of ground not far off, where, while pretending to be paying no heed to them, he could hear all that they said and did.

Then, as the minutes went by, he began to grow impatient for the children to come, but his patience was not tried for long, before the house-door was flung open, and a stampede along the path announced their coming.

”Why, father is up already!” he heard Tom exclaim, ”and just see what a lot he's done.”

”How nice it looks! Doesn't it make a difference?” said another voice that he guessed was Bella's. ”Wait a minute; I've got to let out the fowls, and give them their breakfast. Come along, Margery, if you want to throw it to them.”

For once Margery was quite indifferent to the fowls. ”Is your 'get-me-not growing, daddy?” she shouted anxiously, as she raced up to him.

”My dear life, yes! I should just think it is. You give it a look as you go by. I think it is wonderful.”

”Oh, it is, isn't it? I think it's lovely. I am so glad I gave it to you. Are you glad, daddy?”

”Glad, I should think I am, and no mistake! Never was gladder of anything in my life,” said her father heartily.

Margery's face was radiant with joy. ”What are you going to plant in your garden now, daddy?”

”Cabbages.”

”Oh!” disappointedly, ”I don't like cabbages, they haven't pretty flowers, and they haven't a pretty smell.”

”Well, we can't have everything pretty, and glad enough we are of cabbages for dinner sometimes. The hens like them better than any flower, don't they?”