They entered the florist's, and on a glass table faced the orchids, the slippers, the fringed basket, and the moccasins. Mr. Winton and the squaw were waiting, while the florist was smiling in gratification, but the Minturns went to the flowers without a word. They simply stood and looked. Each of the baskets was in perfect condition. The flowers were as fresh as at home in the swamp. Each was a thing of wondrous beauty. Each deserved the mute tribute it was exacting. Mrs. Minturn studied them with gradually darkening face. Mrs. Minturn repeatedly opened her lips as if she would speak, but did not. She stepped closer and gently turned the flowers and lightly touched the petals. "Beautiful!" she said at last. "Beautiful!" Another long silence. Then: "_Honestly Leslie, did you hear a bird sing that strain from Martha?_" "Yes!" said Leslie, "I did. And if you will go with me to the swamp where those flowers came from, you shall hear one sing a strain that will instantly remind you of the opening chorus, while another renders Di Provenza Il Mar from Traviata." The lady turned again to the flowers. She was thinking something deep and absorbing, but no one could have guessed exactly what it might be. Finally: "I have decided," she said. "Shall we number these one, two, and three, and so indicate them?" "Yes," said Leslie a little breathlessly. "Put your initials to the slips and I'll read them," offered Douglas. Then he smilingly read aloud: "Mr. Lowry, one. Mrs. Minturn, two. Mr. Minturn, three!" "I cast the deciding vote," cried Leslie. "One!" The squaw seemed to think of a war-whoop, but decided against it. "Now be good enough to state your reasons," said Mr. Winton. "_Why_ do you prefer the slipper basket, Mr. Lowry?" "It satisfies my sense of the artistic." "Why the fringed basket, Mrs. Minturn?" "Because it contains daintier, more wonderful flowers than the others, and is by far the most pleasing production." "Now Minturn, your turn. Why do you like the moccasin basket?" "It makes the deepest appeal to me," he answered. "But why?" persisted Mr. Winton. "If you will have it--the moccasins are the colour I once loved on the face of my little daughter." "Now Leslie!" said Mr. Winton hurriedly as he noted Mrs. Minturn's displeased look. "Must I tell?" she asked. "Yes," said her father. "Douglas selected it for me, so I like it best." "But Leslie!" cried Douglas, "there were only two baskets when I favoured that. Had the fringed orchids been here then, I most certainly should have chosen them. I think yours far the most exquisite! I claim it now. Will you give it to me?" "Surely! I'd love to," laughed the girl. "You have done your most exquisite work on the fringed basket," said Mrs. Minturn to the squaw. "No make!" said she promptly, pointing to Leslie. "Leslie Winton, did you go to the swamp to make that basket?" demanded Mrs. Minturn. "Yes," answered Leslie. "Did you make all of them?"