"And lucky they are!" growled old Mr. Cunningham, under his breath, but the ladies did not hear that. * * * * * "I don't want these flowers now I've picked them," cried Floretta. "You can have them if you want them," she said, as she turned toward Dorothy. "I can't hold any more than I have," said Dorothy, "but you could--" "Then here they go!" cried Floretta, as she flung them broadcast, to lie and wilt in the sunlight. "Oh, it was too bad to throw them away," said Dorothy. "I was going to say, if you didn't care for them, perhaps Mrs. Hermanton might like them. She said she liked wild flowers and used to pick them, but her rheumatism won't let her pick them now." "Pooh! I wouldn't have bothered to take them back to her," Floretta replied; and turning about, she ran back to the hotel. "Come here, Floretta!" said Mrs. Paxton. "This lady wishes to see you." Usually Floretta when asked to do anything, preferred to do something else. This time, thinking that she saw an opportunity for a lark, she went promptly and paused beside her mother's chair. "This is Mrs. Dayne, Floretta. Mrs. Dayne, this is my little daughter." Floretta looked up and smiled, but said nothing. She had never been taught that she must reply courteously when spoken to. Her pretty face pleased Mrs. Dayne, who was much the same sort of woman that Mrs. Paxton was. She wished that Floretta could be induced to perform. _Induced!_ She was already wondering if she would have a chance to show off. The opportunity came soon, and she was delighted. Mr. Cunningham had become drowsy, and his magazine dropped to the piazza floor. In stooping to recover it, he hurt his gouty foot, and cried out. "_Oh_, oh-o!" he cried, and like an echo, "_Oh_, oh-o!" cried Floretta, catching hold of her own foot and hopping wildly about. Of course Mrs. Paxton laughed gaily, as if Floretta had done a very smart thing, while Mrs. Dayne, who was as silly a woman as Mrs. Paxton, joined in the merriment, thus hoping to gain favor with her new friend. Mr. Cunningham, without a word, took his magazine and, limping painfully, left the piazza, and went indoors. Mrs. Vinton, an odd expression on her fine face, took her parasol from the chair where it lay, and went for a walk down the path toward the birches. She was disgusted with Mrs. Paxton, Floretta, and Mrs. Dayne, although she felt that the little girl was least of all at fault. She was only an untaught, untrained child, to be pitied rather than blamed. She knew that they would think her very unkind if she did not seem to approve of Floretta, and she could not laugh at cruelty. The child was indeed a clever imitator, but the fact remained that it _was_ cruel to mock an outcry caused by pain. Dorothy and Nancy were coming toward her, on their way toward the hotel, their hands filled with blossoms, faces bright and smiling. They greeted her gaily, and Dorothy offered her some of the flowers.