"Where shall I put it?" said Daisy. "Where would you like to have it
go?"
Molly's eyes presently followed hers, roaming over the little flower
plot in search of room for the geranium, which did not appear; prince's
feather and marigolds so choked up the ground where balsams did not
straggle over it. Molly looked as Daisy did at the possibilities of the
case, looked again at the strange sweet little face which was so busy in
her garden; and then made a sudden movement. With two or three motions
of hands and knees she drew herself a few steps back to one of the
exclusive bunches of balsams, and began with her two hands to root it
up. Actually she was grubbing, might and main, at the ungainly stalks of
the balsams, pulling them up as fast as she could and flinging them
aside, careless where. Daisy came to help with her trowel, and together
they worked, amicably enough but without a word, till the task was done.
A great space was left clear, and Molly threw herself back in her wonted
position for taking observations. Daisy wasted no time. In hopeful
delight she went on to make a hole in the ground in which to sink the
pot of geraniums. It was more of a job than she thought, and she dug
away stoutly with her trowel for a good while before she had an
excavation sufficient to hold the pot. Daisy got it in at last; smoothed
the surface nicely all round it; disposed of the loose soil till the bed
was trim and neat, as far as that was concerned; and then stood up and
spoke.
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