I thought maybe you would like a rose.

Where would you like to have it go ?" The answer was a very strange sort of questioning grunt--inarticulate--nevertheless expressive of rude wonder and incredulity, as far as it expressed anything.

And Molly stared.
"Where shall I put this rose-tree ?" said Daisy.

"Where would it look prettiest?
May I put it here, by these balsams ?" No answer in words; but instead of a sign of assent, the cripple after looking a moment longer at Daisy and the rose-tree, put her hand beyond the balsams and grubbed up a tuft of what the country people call "creepin' Charley;" and then sitting back as before, signified to Daisy by a movement of her hand that the rose-bush might go in that place.
That was all Daisy wanted.

She fell to work with her trowel, glad enough to be permitted, and dug a hole, with great pains and some trouble; for the soil was hard as soon as she got a little below the surface.