_Jen._ You remember the old sycamore on the lawn where Mr. Spreadbrow and I used to sit and learn our lessons years ago?--well, this is a piece of it. And as Mr. Spreadbrow was going to London, I asked him to be so kind as to call, and tell the new people, with his compliments, that he wanted to cut a shoot from it for a young lady who had a very pleasant recollection of many very happy hours spent under it. It was an awkward thing for a nervous young gentleman to do, and it’s very kind of him to have done it. (_Gives back the plant, which he places against upper porch of house._) So he’s coming this morning? _Wil._ Yes, miss, to say good-bye. _Jen._ (_busies herself at stand of flowers_). Good-bye! “How d’ye do?” you mean. _Wil._ No, miss, good-bye. I hear Mr. Spreadbrow’s off to Ingy. _Jen._ Yes; I believe he is going soon. _Wil._ Soon? Ah, soon enough! He joins his ship at Southampton to-night--so he left word yesterday. _Jen._ To-night? No; not for some weeks yet? (_Alarmed._) _Wil._ To-night, miss. I had it from his own lips, and he’s coming to-day to say good-bye. _Jen._ (_aside_). To-night! _Wil._ And a good job too, say I, though he’s a nice young gentleman too. _Jen._ I don’t see that it’s a good job. _Wil._ I don’t want no young gentleman hanging about here, miss. I know what they comes arter;--they comes arter the flowers. _Jen._ The flowers? What nonsense! _Wil._ No, it ain’t nonsense. The world’s a haphazard garden where common vegetables like me, and hardy annuals like my boys, and sour crabs like my old ’ooman, and pretty delicate flowers like you and your sisters grow side by side. It’s the flowers they come arter. _Jen._ Really, Wilcox, if papa don’t object I don’t see what you have to do with it. _Wil._ No, your pa don’t object; but I can’t make your pa out, miss. Walk off with one of his tuppenny toolips and he’s your enemy for life. Walk off with one of his darters and he settles three hundred a year on you. Tell ’ee what, miss; if I’d a family of grown gals like you, I’d stick a conservatory label on each of them--“Please not to touch the specimens!”--and I’d take jolly good care they didn’t. _Jen._ At all events, if Mr. Spreadbrow is going away to-night, you need not be alarmed on my account. I am a flower that is not picked in a minute. _Wil._ Well said, miss! And as he _is_ going, and as you won’t see him no more, I don’t mind saying that a better-spoken young gentleman I don’t know. A good, honest, straightfor’ard young chap he is--looks you full in the face with eyes that seem to say, “I’m a open book--turn me over--look me through and through--read every page of me, and if you find a line to be ashamed on, tell me of it, and I’ll score it through.” _Jen._ (_demurely_), I dare say Mr. Spreadbrow is much as other young men are. _Wil._ As other young men? No, no--Lord forbid, miss! Come--say a good word for him, miss, poor young gentleman. He’s said many a good word of you, I’ll go bail.