she had finished her
breakfast and taken her first lesson in dish-washing, in spite of Dame
Hartley's protest. "And isn't there something I can do there, please? I
want to work; I don't want to be idle any longer."

"Well, honey," replied the dame, "there are currants to pick, if you
like such work as that. I am going to make jelly to-morrow; and if you
like to begin the picking, I will come and help you when my bread is out
of the oven."

Gladly Hilda flew up to her room for the broad-leaved hat with the
daisy-wreath; and then, taking the wide, shallow basket which Dame
Hartley handed her, she fairly danced out of the door, over the bit of
green, and into the garden.

Ah! the sweet, heartsome country garden that this was,--the very thought
of it is a rest and a pleasure. Straight down the middle ran a little
gravel path, with a border of fragrant clove-pinks on either side,
planted so close together that one saw only the masses of pale pink
blossoms resting on their bed of slender silvery leaves. And over the
border! Oh the wealth of flowers, the blaze of crimson and purple and
gold, the bells that swung, the spires that sprang heavenward, the
clusters that nodded and whispered together in the morning breeze! Here
were ranks upon ranks of silver lilies, drawn up in military fashion,
and marshalled by clumps of splendid tiger-lilies,--the drum-majors of
the flower-garden. Here were roses of every sort, blushing and paling,
glowing in gold and mantling in crimson. And the carnations showed their
delicate fringes, and the geraniums blazed, and the heliotrope
languished, and the "Puritan pansies" lifted their sweet faces and
looked gravely about, as if reproving the other flowers for their
frivolity; while shy Mignonette, thinking herself well hidden behind her
green leaves, still made her presence known by the exquisite perfume
which all her gay sisters would have been glad to borrow.

Over all went the sunbeams, rollicking and playing; and through all went
Hildegarde, her heart filled with a new delight, feeling as if she had
never lived before. She talked to the flowers. She bent and kissed the
damask rose, which was too beautiful to pluck. She put her cheek against
a lily's satin-silver petals, and started when an angry bee flew out and
buzzed against her nose. But where were the currant-bushes? Ah! there
they were,--a row of stout green bushes, forming a hedge at the bottom
of the garden.

Hilda fell busily to