Then there are those, plenty
of them, who really do not know that they care for flowers. The boys,
ushered for the first time in their lives into the full bloom of a
conservatory, were, most of them, of this latter stamp.
What a scene of beauty it was! Great white callas, bending their
graceful cups; great red and yellow roses, making the air rich with
their breath; vines and mosses and ferns and small flowers in almost
endless variety. Alfred and Gracie moved among the glories; the latter
exhausting all her superlatives in honest delight, although she had
visited the spot a dozen times that day; and Alfred, who had been less
favored, was hardly less eager and responsive than she. But Mrs. Roberts
watched the boys.
It was all very well for those two to enjoy her flowers; of course they
would. But what language would the silent, lovely things speak to her
untutored boys? They said not a word; not one of them. They made no
exclamations; they had no superlatives at command. But Stephen Crowley
stooped before a lovely carnation, and smelled, and _smelled_,
drawing in long breaths, as though he meant to take its fragrance all
away with him; and Nimble Dick picked up the straying end of an ivy, and
restored it to its support again, in a way that was not to be lost sight
of by one who was looking for hearts; and Dirk Colson brushed back his
matted hair and stood long before a great, pure lily, and looked down
into its heart with an expression on his face that his teacher never
forgot.
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