"Yes, dearie. Pretty, isn't it? It blooms all the year; and I've seen it down in Devonshire covering a space of nearly half an acre with its leaves and blossoms. One of the poets, not Cowper my favourite, though one equally fond of the world of nature, describes the flower very nicely. `See,' he says-- "`Where the sky-blue Periwinkle climbs E'en to the cottage eaves, and hides the wall And dairy lattice, with a thousand eyes!'" "What pretty lines, auntie, so very like the flower!" cried Nell when Mrs Gilmour finished the quotation. "But, do you know, auntie, I thought when you said you'd found a periwinkle, you meant one to eat, like those periwinkles I've got in the aquarium you gave me." "Did you really, though, dearie?" said her aunt, smiling at her very natural mistake. "It is because you feel hungry, I suppose. You may eat this one if you like!" "No, no, auntie," laughed Nellie, "I'm not quite so hungry as that! But, oh, auntie, here are some of those lovely big daisies we saw when we first came in the park." "Those are the daisies that are called the `ox-eye' or moon daisy, my dear," explained Mrs Gilmour. "You might call them the first cousins-- though only, mind you, a sort of poor relation--of the choice marguerite daisy that gardeners cultivate and think so highly of. Here, too, dearie, I see another old friend of mine, whose petals fall just like snow-flakes on the grass." "It is almost like the honeysuckle," cried Nellie. "How sweet it smells!" "Like its name, dearie," replied the other. "It is called the `meadow- sweet'; and a delicious perfume can be extracted from it by infusion in boiling water. The roots of the plant are long tubers, which, when ground to powder and dried, may be used as a substitute for flour, should you have any scarcity of that article!" "I'd rather have the real sort of flour, though, auntie." "So would I, too, dearie," agreed Mrs Gilmour. "I only told you in case you may be thrown on a desert island some day, when the information might be of use in the event of your being without bread." "But, supposing there was no meadow-sweet there either, auntie?" "Sure that would be a bad look-out," said Mrs Gilmour, joining in Nell's laugh. "I think we'd better wait till you get to the desert island!" Wandering along, they plucked at their will masses of the wild convolvulus, or "great bindweed," whose white blossoms, while they lasted, added much to the general effect of the bouquet Nellie was making up with her busy fingers from the spoils of coppice and sward.