"And do you know the dingle-bells that grow near the edge of the
wood?" he asked again.
"I know them well, papa," replied Mary, "for often I gather their blue
blossoms and put them in a vase upon the table."
"And how about the cockle-shells?"
"Them also I know," said Mary eagerly, for she was glad her father
should find her so well acquainted with the field flowers; "there is
nothing prettier than the big white flowers of the cockle-shells. But
tell me, papa, what have the flowers to do with your coming home?"
"Why, just this, sweetheart," returned the sailor gravely; "all the
time that it takes the cowslips and dingle-bells and cockle-shells to
sprout from the ground, and grow big and strong, and blossom into
flower, and, yes--to wither and die away again--all that time shall
your brothers and I sail the seas. But when the cold winds begin to
blow, and the flowers are gone, then, God willing, we shall come back
to you; and by that time you may have grown wiser and bigger, and I am
sure you will have grown older. So one more kiss, sweetheart, and then
we must go, for our time is up."
The next morning, when Mary and her mother had dried their eyes, which
had been wet with grief at the departure of their loved ones, the
little girl asked earnestly,
"Mamma, may I make a flower-garden?"
"A flower-garden!" repeated her mother in surprise; "why do you wish a
flower-garden, Mary?"
"I want to plant in it the cockle-shells and the cowslips and the
dingle-bells," she answered.
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