her wild garden.'"

Katy handed Linda a bundle of newspaper, inside which, wrapped in a
man's handkerchief, she found several plants, carefully lifted, the
roots properly balled, the heads erect, crisp, although in full flower.

"Oh, Katy!" cried Linda. "Look, it's Gallito, 'little rooster'!" "Now
ain't them jist yellow violets?" asked Katy dubiously.

"No," said Linda, "they are not. They are quite a bit rarer. They are
really a wild pansy. Bring water, Katy, and help me."

"But I've something else for ye," said Katy.

"I don't care what you have," answered Linda. "I am just compelled to
park these little roosters at once."

"What makes ye call them that ungodly name?" asked Katy.

"Nothing ungodly about it," answered Linda. "It's funny. Gallito is the
Spanish name for these violets, and it means 'little rooster.'"

Linda set the violets as carefully as they had been lifted and rinsed
her hands at the hydrant.

"Now bring on the remainder of the exhibit," she ordered.

"It's there on the top of the rock pile, which you notice has incrased
since ye last saw it."

"So it has!" said Linda. "So it has! And beautifully colored specimens
those are too. My fern bed will lift up its voice and rejoice in them.
And rocks mean Henry Anderson. The box I do not understand."

Linda picked it up, untied the string, and slipped off the wrapping.
Katy stared in wide-mouthed amazement.

"I was just tickled over that because Miss Eileen saw a good-looking and
capable young man leave a second package, right on the heels of young
Whiting," she said. "Whatever have ye got, lambie? What does that mean?"

Linda held up a beautiful box of glass, inside of which could be seen
swarming specimens of every bug, beetle, insect, and worm that Henry
Anderson had been able to collect in Heaven only knew what hours of
search. Linda opened the box. The winged creatures flew, the bettles
tumbled, the worms went over the top. She set it on the ground and
laughed to exhaustion. Her eyes were wet as she looked up at Katy.

"That first night Henry Anderson and Peter Morrison were here to dinner,
Katy," she said, "Anderson made a joke about being my bug-catcher when
I built my home nest, and several times since he has tried to be silly
about it, but the last time I told him it was foolishness to which I
would listen no more, so instead of talking, he has taken this way of
telling me that he is fairly expert as a bug-catcher. Really, it is
aw