of the room. There's nothing in the other cupboard, I suppose?"
"This door's jolly heavy. You want too much," said Jane. "You've almost got it too." she said, falling back a little from the open door.
For in the cupboard was a jug and wash-basin, painted with large roses and peonies and gaily-feathered birds, and to the inside of the door was fixed a long looking-glass.
"Replete," said Jane thoughtfully, "with every modern convenience."
"It's very wonderful," said Lucilla. "I mean he must be very wonderful. I can imagine a young person taking all this trouble—but an old man . . ."
"All old people don't forget what it felt like to be young," said Jane, voicing a great and rarely recognised truth. "Get all the flowers you can. When Mr. Simmons comes we'll get him to help lift out the big table. This is going to look more attractive than any bazaar stall, Lucy. But I don't like the oilcloth—those little lilac spots. . . . And yet, I don't know—it's cottagy. Oh, hurry up! This is going to be what Gladys calls a fair treat."
It was, though, as Jane pointed out, they would never know how fair a treat it would have been, because the board attracted the notice of every passer-by and people came in to buy flowers long before the "shop," as they called it, was arranged, and, of course, the more flowers they sold the fewer they had to make the shop pretty with. Still, in spite of this drawback, it was very pretty. Table and window-ledges were golden with daffodils in green pots. Lucilla found a small garden bench, dragged it from its place, and set it up on the drive a couple of yards from the French window. On this was a double row of low pots running over with the blue of forget-me-nots, behind which rose-coloured tulips stood up like little lanterns. On the round table they put a great Flanders jug filled with tall boughs all leaf and blossom, and round it more forget-me-nots.
"Heaven bless good old Mr. Rochester for this!" said
