The beauties in flower were so very many and so very various and so delicious all to Daisy's eye, that she was a good deal puzzled.

Red and purple and blue and white and yellow, the beds were gay and glorious.

But Daisy reflected that anything which wanted skill in its culture or shelter from severities of season would disappoint Molly, because it would not get from her what would be necessary to its thriving.

Some of the flowers in bloom, too, would not bear transplanting.

Daisy did not know what to do.