large bed I've planted poppies,
snap-dragon, and marigolds. This round one is full of larkspur and
bachelor's buttons. I have phlox and petunias, too--did you ever see a
petunia seed?"

Ruth shook her head.

"It's the tiniest thing, smaller than a grain of sand. When I plant
them, I always wonder how those great, feathery petunias are coming out
of those little, baby seeds, but they come. Over there are things that
won't blossom till late--asters, tiger-lilies and prince's feather. It's
going to be a beautiful garden, deary. Down by the gate are my sweet
herbs and simples--marjoram, sweet thyme, rosemary, and lavender. I love
the lavender, don't you?"

"Yes, I do," replied Ruth, "but I've never seen it growing."

"It's a little bush, with lavender flowers that yield honey, and it's
all sweet--flowers, leaves, and all. I expect you'll laugh at me, but
I've planted sunflowers and four-o'clocks and foxglove."

"I won't laugh---I think it's lovely. What do you like best, Miss
Ainslie?"

"I love them all," she said, with a smile on her lips and her deep,
unfathomable eyes fixed upon Ruth, "but I think the lavender comes
first. It's so sweet, and then it has associations--"

She paused, in confusion, and Ruth went on, quickly: "I think they
all have associations, and that's why we love them. I can't bear red
geraniums because a cross old woman I knew when I was a child had her
yard full of them, and I shall always love the lavender," she added,
softly, "because it makes me think of you."

Miss Ainslie's checks flushed and her eyes shone. "Now we'll go into the
house," she said, "and we'll have tea."

"I shouldn't stay any longer," murmured Ruth, following her, "I've been
here so long now."

"'T isn't long," contradicted Miss Ainslie, sweetly, "it's been only a
very few minutes."

Every moment, the house and its owner took on new beauty and charm. Miss
Ainslie spread a napkin of finest damask upon the little mahogany tea
table, then brought in a silver teapot of quaint design, and two cups of
Japanese china, dainty to the point of fragility.

"Why, Miss Ainslie," exclaimed Ruth, in surprise, "where did you get
Royal Kaga?"

Miss Ainslie was bending over the table, and the white hand that held
the teapot trembled a little. "They were a present from--a friend," she
answered, in a low voice.

"They're beautiful," said Ruth, hurriedly.

She had been to many an elaborate affair, which was down on the social
ca