"
"Now, Rock," she said, as they went along the paths, "you are not
choosing the prettiest ones at all. I believe you are picking out the
mean ones on purpose; I am going to choose myself. You tell me,
Florence, whenever you see a real pretty one."
Florence promised, and Rock looked on, secretly pleased that they had
taken the matter into their own hands.
"What lovely ones you have chosen," he said, as Dimple gave the bunch
into his hands. "Thank you so much."
"And thank you, so much," said the girls, "for the hats, and the
baskets, and the invitation."
"You will be sure to be ready," he said, at the gate.
"Yes," they cried.
"At half-past four?"
"Yes."
"Good-bye sister; good-bye Florence; go in out of the sun."
"Good-bye, brother, keep in the shade."
Then they laughed and ran in.
"Mamma," cried Dimple. "Auntie," cried Florence, "where are you?"
"Upstairs," she answered.
Up they ran. "Aren't you glad Rock is such a nice boy? Did you know boys
could be so nice?" asked Dimple.
"I knew they could be, if they would."
"What makes Rock so gentle and kind and good?"
"Well, you see he lost his father when he was a very little boy, and as
he had no brothers or sisters, he has been almost constantly with his
mother, who is a very gentle, sweet woman.
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