She added two or three
from a heliotrope, and the freshest sprigs from a diosma, a myrtle, and
a geranium, all somewhat languishing, and tied them together for me with
a long blade of grass.
"It is plain," said I, as I thanked her, "that you still care enough
about flowers to arrange them most sweetly. These look as if they were
sitting for their picture. I should like to paint them just as they
are."
"Can you paint?"
"A little. Cannot you?"
"No; I can't do anything."
"Shall we make a bargain, then?" I ventured to say, as she looked and
seemed so much like the poor baby the Doctor had called her. "We will
each of us try to do something for the other. If I succeed in painting
your flowers, and you succeed in following your directions, you shall
have the picture."
She blushed deeply, looked half ashamed and half gratified, but
altogether more alive than she had done till now, and finally managed to
stammer out: "It's too good an offer--too kind--to refuse; but it's more
than I deserve, a great deal. So I'll try to mind Dr. Physick, to please
you; and then--if you _liked_ to give me the picture, I should prize it
very much."
I nodded, laughed, went home, put the flowers in water on Julia's
work-table, read to her, and went into the heart of the town to do some
shopping for her.
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