A few days before Laurie’s arrival she went to the greenhouse to see the chrysanthemums. There was an excellent show of them.
“ Mrs. Baxter doesn’t like them hairy ones,” said the gardener.
“Oh! I had forgotten. Well, Ferris, on the nineteenth I shall want a big bunch of them. You’d better take those—those hairy ones. And some maidenhair. Is there plenty?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Can you make a wreath, Ferris?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Well, will you make a good wreath of them, please, for a grave? The morning of the twentieth will do. There’ll be plenty left for the church and house?”
“Oh yes, miss.”
“And for Father Mahon?”
“Oh yes, miss.”
“Very well, then. Will you remember that? A good wreath, with fern, on the morning of the twentieth. If you’ll just leave it here I’ll call for it about twelve o’clock. You needn’t send it up to the house.”
“Very good, miss.”