"No, uncle Dick's is right on this street."
"Mr. Badger," replied Hazel, and she didn't notice the sudden stiffening that went through Miss Fletcher.
"What is your last name?" asked the lady, in a changed voice.
This time any one who had eyes for something beside the flowers might have seen Miss Fletcher start. Color flew into her thin cheeks, and the eyes that stared at Hazel's straw tam-o'-shanter grew dim. This was dear Mabel Badger's child; her little namesake, her own flesh and blood.
Her jaw felt rigid as she asked the next question. "Have you ever spoken to your uncle Dick about my garden?"
"Yes, indeed. That's why he let me make one; and every night he asks, 'Well, how's Miss Fletcher's garden to-day,' and I tell him all about it"
"And didn't he ever say anything to you about me?"
"Why, no;" the child looked up wonderingly. "He doesn't know you, does he?"
"We used to know one another," returned Miss Fletcher stiffly.
Richard had certainly behaved very decently in this particular instance. At least he had told no lies.
"Hazel is such an unusual name," she went on, after a minute. "Who were you named for?"
"My mother's favorite aunt," returned the child.
"I don't know," replied Hazel vaguely. "My mother was talking to me about her the evening before uncle Dick and I left Boston. She told me how much she loved aunt Hazel; but that error had crept in, and they couldn't see each other just now, but that God would bring it all right some day. I have a lovely silver spoon she gave me when I was a baby."
Miss Fletcher stooped to her border and cut a bunch of mignonette with the scissors that hung from her belt. "Here's something for you to smell of as you walk home," she said, and Hazel saw her new friend's hand tremble as she held out the flowers. "Do you ever kiss strangers?" added the hostess as she rose to her feet.
Hazel held up her face and took hold of Miss Fletcher's arm as she kissed her. "I think you've been so kind to me," she said warmly. "I've had the best time!"
"Well, pick the climbing rose as you pass," returned Miss Fletcher. "It seems to want to see the world. Let it go along with you; and don't forget to come to-morrow. I hope it will be pleasant."
She stood still, the warm breeze ruffling the thin locks about her forehead, and watched the little girl trip along the walk. The child looked back and smiled as she stopped to pick the pink rose, and when she threw a kiss to Miss Fletcher, that lady found herself responding.