“If I only had a place in the city for little bouquets, not the conventional style, but sweet little ones for the hair and to wear at the breast;” and while she was speaking, she took a spray of scarlet-verbena, set it around with mignonette and a bordering of apple-geranium leaves. “They ought to bring ten cents at this season—at least five.” “Why, Susie, they could be sold by the thousand. I believe Miss Galway, my dressmaker, could dispose of any number. Let us set to work at once and make up a hundred of them, and you take them to her to-morrow, with a letter from me. I have her confidence, and can count on her assent. Nothing will be lost anyway, if we fail.” Susie seized the opportunity, and the work commenced. A layer of thirty just covered the bottom of the basket Susie provided—a very ugly basket, that came from the florist’s with Neapolitan violet roots. Five layers, one hundred and fifty bouquets, were ready before Clara left, and the next morning, at ten o’clock, were actually on sale in Miss Galway’s window, labeled “ten cents each.” Susie returned in high spirits. She had found Miss Galway charming. Two of the bouquets had been sold in five minutes. “Oh, Clara!” she exclaimed, “if I had only known, I could have kept her supplied all summer.” At the end of three days, Miss Galway wrote, enclosing twelve dollars, the balance after deducting commission. “The last of the flowers, Miss Galway said, had been sold toward evening, on the Common, by her little sister, who was anxious to sell more.” They had pleased Miss Galway’s customers, especially because of the rare fragrance of the geranium. Susie sent more, but the stock soon diminished, for she had not counted on this new market. The apple-geranium became precious, and new plans commenced to mature in Susie’s ever-active brain.