"I'd pay my last dollar for them!" declared Philip. "Guess you're
right. According to your reasoning, we're as good as missionaries when
we find wild flowers and take or send them to the city market to sell.
Aunt Rebecca wouldn't see that. She'd see the money end of it. Poor
soul! I'm glad I'm not like her."
"Pharisee," chided his sister.
"Well, do you know, Manda, sometimes I think there's something to be
said in favor of the Pharisee."
The girl gave him a quizzical look.
The serious and the light were so strangely mingled in the boy's
nature. Amanda caught many glimpses into the recesses of his heart,
recesses he knew she would not try to explore deeper than he wished.
For the natures of brother and sister were strongly similar--light-
hearted and happy, laughing and gay, keen to enjoy life, but reading
some part of its mysteries, understanding some of its sorrows and
showing at times evidences of searching thought and grave retrospect.
"How many dollars' worth do we have?" the boy asked in imitation of
Aunt Rebecca's mercenary way.
"Oh, Phil! You're dreadful! But I bet the flowers will be gone in no
time when Millie puts them out."
"I'd wager they'd go faster if you sold them," he replied, looking
admiringly at the girl. "You'd be a pretty fair peddler of flowers,
Sis."
"Oh, Phil, be sensible."
"I mean it, Amanda. You're not so bad looking. Your hair isn't common
red, it's Titian. And it's fluffy. Then your eyes are good and your
complexion lacks the freckles you ought to have. Your nose isn't
Grecian, but it'll do--we'll call it retroussé, for that sounds nicer
than pug. And your mouth--well, it's not exactly a rosebud one, but it
doesn't mar the general landscape like some mouths do. Altogether,
you're real good-looking, even if you are my sister."
"Philip Reist, you're impertinent! But I suppose you are truthful.
That's a doubtful compliment you're giving me, but I'm glad to say your
veracity augurs well for your success as a lawyer. If you are always as
honest as in that little speech you just delivered, you'll do."
"Oh, I'll make grand old Abe Lincoln look to his laurels."
And so, with comradely teasing, threaded with a more serious vein, an
hour passed and the two returned home with their baskets filled with
the lovely pink and white, delicately fragrant, trailing arbutus.
They found the supper ready, Uncle Amos washed and combed, and waiting
on the back porch for the summons to the meal.
Mrs. Reist peeped into the basket and exclaimed in joy as she breathed
in the sweet perfume of the fresh flowers. Millie paused in the act of
pouring coffee into big blue cups to "get a sniff of the smell," but
Aunt Rebecca was impatient at the momentary delay. "My goodness, but
you poke around. I like to get the supper out before it gets cold."