Logan murmured as he took up the pot in which it
was planted — "Less than the best will never serve ye, Miss
Daisy" — but he did not grumble about it after all, and Daisy
was content.
She was very content when she had got it in her pony-chaise
and was driving off, with the magnificent purple-red blossoms
at her feet. How exquisitely those delicate petals were
painted, and marked with dashes of red and purple deeper than
the general colour. What rich clusters of blossoms. Daisy gave
only half an eye to her driving; and it was not till she had
almost reached Melbourne gate that she discovered her trowel
had been forgotten. She sent her attendant back for it and
waited.
Loupe was always willing to stand, lazy little fat fellow that
he was; and Daisy was giving her undivided attention to the
purple "Jewess," with a sort of soft prayer going on all the
while in her heart that her errand might be blessed; when she
was suddenly interrupted.
"Why, where are you going, Daisy?"
"Where have you been, Preston?" said Daisy, as suddenly
drawing up.
"Little Yankee!" said Preston. "Answer one question by another
in that fashion? You mustn't do it, Daisy. What are you
doing?"
"Nothing.
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