Chapter XVIII. May Baskets

therestinamossypileuponthetable. “Edalwaysgetsaheadofusindoingtherightthingattherighttime.Hopeyou'vegotsomefirst-classbasketsreadyforhim,”saidGus,refreshingtheWashingtoniannosewithapinkblossomortwo. “Notmuchdangerofhisbeingforgotten,”answeredMollyandeveryonelaughed,forEdwasmuchbelovedbyallthegirls,andhisdoor-stepsalwaysbloomedlikeaflower-bedonMayeve. “Nowwemustflyroundandfillup.Come,boys,sortoutthegreenandhandustheflowersaswewantthem.Thenwemustdirectthem,and,bythetimethatisdone,youcangoandleavethem,”saidJill,settingalltowork. “Edmustchoosehisbasketsfirst.Theseareoursbutanyofthoseyoucanhave”andMollypointedtoadetachmentofgaybaskets,setapartfromthosealreadypartlyfilled. Edchoseablueone,andMerryfilleditwiththerosiestmay-flowers,knowingthatitwastohangonMabel'sdoor-handle. Theothersdidthesame,andtheprettyworkwenton,withmuchfun,tillallwerefilled,andreadyforthenamesornotes. “Letushavepoetry,aswecan'tgetwildflowers.Thatwillberatherfine,”proposedJill,wholikedjingles. Allhadhadsomepracticeatthegameparties,andpencilswentbrisklyforafewminutes,whilesilencereigned,asthepoetsrackedtheirbrainsforrhymes,andstaredatthebloomingarraybeforethemforinspiration. “Oh,dear!Ican'tfindawordtorhymeto'geranium,'”sighedMolly,pullingherbraid,asiftopumpthewellofherfancydry. “Cranium,”saidFrank,whowasgettingonbravelywith“Annette”and“violet.” “Thatiselegant!”andMollyscribbledawayingreatglee,forherpoemswerealwaysfunnyones. “Howdoyouspellanemoly—thewildflower,Imean?”askedJill,whowastryingtocomposeaveryappropriatepieceforherbestbasket,andfounditeasiertofeelloveandgratitudethantoputthemintoverse. “Anemonedospellitproperly,oryou'llgetlaughedat,”answeredGus,wildlystrugglingtomakehislinesexpressgreatardor,withoutbeing“toospoony,”asheexpressedit. “No,Ishouldn't.Thispersonneverlaughsatotherpersons'mistakes,assomepersonsdo,”repliedJill,withdignity. Jackwasdesperatelychewinghispencil,forhecouldnotgetonatallbutEdhadevidentlypreparedhispoem,forhispaperwashalffullalready,andMerrywassmilingasshewroteafriendlylineortwoforRalph'sbasket,asshefearedhewouldbeforgotten,andknewhelovedkindnessevenmorethanhedidbeauty. “Nowlet'sreadthem,”proposedMolly,wholovedtolaughevenatherself. Theboyspolitelydeclined,andscrambledtheirnotesintothechosenbasketsingreathastebutthegirlswerelessbashful.Jillwasinvitedtobegin,andgaveherlittlepiece,withthepinkhyacinthbasketbeforeher,toillustrateherpoem. “TOMYLADY “Therearenoflowersinthefields, Nogreenleavesonthetree, Nocolumbines,noviolets, Nosweetanemone. SoIhavegatheredfrommypots AllthatIhavetofill ThebasketthatIhangto-night, WithheapsoflovefromJill.” “That'sperfectlysweet!Mineisn'tbutImeantittobefunny,”saidMolly,asiftherecouldbeanydoubtaboutthefollowingditty:— “DearGrif, Hereisawhiff Ofbeautifulspringflowers Thebigredrose Isforyournose, Astowardtheskyittowers. “Oh,donotfrown Uponthiscrown Ofgreenpinksandbluegeranium Butthinkofme Whenthisyousee, Andputitonyourcranium.” “OMolly,youwillneverhearthelastofthatifGrifgetsit,”saidJill,astheapplausesubsided,fortheboyspronouncedit“tip-top.” “Don'tcare,hegetstheworstofitanyway,forthereisapininthatrose,andifhegoestosmellthemayflowersunderneathhewillfindathorntopayforthetackheputinmyrubberboot.Iknowhewillplaymesomejoketo-night,andImeantobefirstifIcan,”answeredMolly,settlingtheartificialwreathroundtheorange-coloredcanoewhic