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given us was that he did not want to marry
when his father wanted him to; he said
there was not one girl in the whole country
as pretty as his flowers, and that he liked
better to keep company with them. The only
quarrel he ever had with his father was when
he wanted to go to work for a whole year
under the head-gardener at the Château
and become a real gardener himself. But
how could we spare him on the farm, his
father is getting so old! And now we
want to tell him that he can become
a real gardener if he wants. We will sell
the cow and give him all the money he
needs.”
The old man scratched his head
meditatively: “It is a very good cow, and don’t
you think we could see first what we could
get for that old clock Madame la Comtesse
always wants to buy?”
“He did not want to go to the war,” the
old mother went on, “but he said he must
go. The last evening he took me out to his
flowers and made me promise to look after
them just as he had done, and he spoke about
them as if they were alive. He always used
to say that the flowers knew him and he
never wanted to pick them, not even for the
flower-show.”
“Josephine, I think you had better tell
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