Next morning she went among the flower beds, and took a very careful
survey of all the beauties there to see what best she might take for her
next attack upon Molly. The beauties in flower were so very many and so
very various and so delicious all to Daisy's eye, that she was a good
deal puzzled. Red and purple and blue and white and yellow, the beds
were gay and glorious. But Daisy reflected that anything which wanted
skill in its culture or shelter from severities of season would
disappoint Molly, because it would not get from her what would be
necessary to its thriving. Some of the flowers in bloom, too, would not
bear transplanting. Daisy did not know what to do. She took Logan into
her confidence, so far as she could without mentioning names or
circumstances.
"Weel, Miss Daisy," said the gardener, "if ye're bent on being a Lady
Flora to the poor creature, I'll tell ye what ye'll do--ye'll just take
her a scarlet geranium."
"A geranium?" said Daisy.
"Ay. Just that."
"But it would want to be in the greenhouse when winter comes."
"Any place where it wouldn't freeze," said Logan. "You see, it'll be in
a pot e'en now, Miss Daisy--and you'll keep it in the pot; and the pot
you'll sink in the ground till frost comes; and when the frost comes,
it'll just come up as it is and go intil the poor body's house, and make
a spot of summer for her in her house till summer comes again."
"O Logan, that is an excellent thought!"
"Ay, Miss Daisy--I'm glad ye approve it.
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