ight, before indeed they had left
the little turfy dell where their paraphernalia was spread out with
Rover in charge, was the pretty rose-coloured blossom of the "ragged
Robin," rising out of the grass. A little further off was a cluster of
the lilac field madder, named after Sherard the eminent botanist, whose
herbarium is still preserved at Oxford. This plant is one of a large
family, numbering over two thousand varieties, from which the well-known
dye, madder, is obtained, though, of late years, aniline colouring
matter has somewhat depreciated its commercial value.

Mrs Gilmour presently picked up something better than either of these,
at least in appearance. This was a little blue flower resembling the
violet, with glossy green leaves that were its especial charm.

"I declare I've found a periwinkle!" she cried--"such a fine one too."

"Oh, let me look, auntie!" said Nell, peeping into her hand. "Dear me,
do you call that a periwinkle?"

"Yes, dearie. Pretty, isn't it? It blooms all the year; and I've seen
it down in Devonshire covering a space of nearly half an acre with its
leaves and blossoms. One of the poets, not Cowper my favourite, though
one equally fond of the world of nature, describes the flower very
nicely. `See,' he says--

"`Where the sky-blue Periwinkle climbs
E'en to the cottage eaves, and hides the wall
And dairy lattice, with a thousand eyes!'"

"What pretty lines, auntie, so very like the flower!" cried Nell when
Mrs Gilmour finished the quotation. "But, do you know, auntie, I
thought when you said you'd found a periwinkle, you meant one to eat,
like those periwinkles I've got in the aquarium you gave me."

"Did you really, though, dearie?" said her aunt, smiling at her very
natural mistake. "It is because you feel hungry, I suppose. You may
eat this one if you like!"

"No, no, auntie," laughed Nellie, "I'm not quite so hungry as that!
But, oh, auntie, here are some of those lovely big daisies we saw when
we first came in the park."

"Those are the daisies that are called the `ox-eye' or moon daisy, my
dear," explained Mrs Gilmour. "You might call them the first cousins--
though only, mind you, a sort of poor relation--of the choice marguerite
daisy that gardeners cultivate and think so highly of. Here, too,
dearie, I see another old friend of mine, whose petals fall just like
snow-flakes on the grass."

"It is almost like the honeysuckle," cried Nellie. "How swee