Presently a voice said at her elbow:
"You look as if you saw something beside pansies there."
David spoke so quietly that it did not startle her, and she answered
before she had time to feel ashamed of her fancy.
"I do; for, ever since I was a child, I always see a little face
when I look at this flower. Sometimes it is a sad one, sometimes
it's merry, often roguish, but always a dear little face; and when I
see so many together, it's like a flock of children, all nodding and
smiling at me at once."
"So it is!" and David nodded, and smiled himself, as he handed her
two or three of the finest, as if it was as natural a thing as to
put a sprig of mignonette in his own button-hole.
Christie thanked him, and then jumped up, remembering that she came
there to work, not to dream. He seemed to understand, and went into
a little room near by, saying, as he pointed to a heap of gay
flowers on the table:
"These are to be made into little bouquets for a 'German' to-night.
It is pretty work, and better fitted for a woman's fingers than a
man's. This is all you have to do, and you can vise your taste as to
colors."
While he spoke David laid a red and white carnation on a bit of
smilax, tied them together, twisted a morsel of silver foil about
the stems, and laid it before Christie as a sample.
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