e little bundle he
had put away in his room. Mrs. Peet was with Dick, who always went to
bed early, and the old gardener was glad to seize the opportunity to
examine his treasure alone. On removing the outer covering, and opening
the box, he discovered a bulb carefully wrapped in cotton fibre, and
under it was a closely written sheet of paper. It was a note from his
brother, relating how he had come across the most curious plant of the
orchid tribe he had ever yet seen. It was not a profuse grower, and he
had only succeeded in finding one or two specimens, in the crevices of
rocks at the entrance to a cavern. This cavern was half-way up a
mountain, and in a cooler climate than most of the plants he had sent
previously. After giving certain particulars as to soil and habits, he
added: 'Its value should be great, as I believe it to be a new
variety--a cave orchid--an unknown species as far as I know.'

Peet examined the bulb, and sat pondering with the letter in his hand.
He was feeling drowsy after his day's work in the heat of August, and it
was in a half-dream that he pictured to himself the scene his brother
described. In the same dreamy way he regretted that no cave answering to
the conditions was available in which he could experiment with the new
plant. Still pondering, he must have fallen asleep, for the next thing
he heard was the voice of his wife, saying, as she laughingly shook him
by the shoulder, 'Why, Father, whatever is the matter?'

He looked up sleepily.

'You're calling out about that there ruined summer-house, and the inside
room, and a plant, as if the whole thing was to be shouted from the
house-tops. A secret, too, for you cry, "Now, don't you be telling my
lady. It's quite a new thing." What does it all mean, anyhow?'

Peet growled, but roused himself, confessing he had been dreaming. No
more was said, but the dream had started ideas at which he smiled even
to himself, and carried out, half ashamed of his queer fancies. He would
keep the plant a secret; it should be cultivated in the inner room of
the ruin, the broad south window of which would provide all the warmth
necessary. He would also carry out his dream by making the orchid a gift
to Lady Coke. Had she not been an angel of goodness to him and his? What
more beautiful an offering could he make in return for all she had done?
Poor Peet! it was his way of proving his gratitude.

The very care with which he guarded his secret had roused the