One evening after dinner, when Mrs. Caldwell was reading aloud to Beth and Bernadine, there came a thundering knock at the front door, which startled them all. The weather had been bad all day, and now the shutters were closed, the rain beat against them with a chilly, depressing effect, inexpressibly dreary. Instead of attending to the reading, Beth had been listening to the footsteps of people passing in the street, in the forlorn hope that among them she might distinguish Alfred's. When the knock came they thought it was a runaway, but Harriet opened the door all the same, and presently returned, smiling archly, and holding aloft a beautiful bouquet. "What's that?" said Mrs. Caldwell. "Give it to me." Beth's heart stood still. There was a card attached to the flowers, and Mrs. Caldwell read aloud, "_Miss Caldwell, with respectful compliments._" "Who brought this, Harriet?" she asked. "No one, ma'am," Harriet replied. "It was 'itched on till the knocker." "Very strange," Mrs. Caldwell muttered suspiciously. "Beth, do you know anything about it?" "Is there no name on the card?" Beth asked diplomatically; and Mrs. Caldwell looked at the card instead of into Beth's face, and discovered nothing. Raindrops sparkled on the flowers, their fragrance filled the room, and their colours and forms and freshness were a joy to behold. "How beautiful they are!" Mrs. Caldwell exclaimed. "May I have them, mamma?" Beth put in quickly. "Well, yes, I suppose you may," Mrs. Caldwell decided; "although I must say I do not understand their being left in this way at all. Who could have sent you flowers?" "There's the gardener at Fairholm," Beth ventured to suggest. "Oh, ah, yes," said Mrs. Caldwell, handing the flowers to Beth without further demur. The gift appeared less lovely, somehow, when she began to associate it with the gardener's respectful compliments. Beth took the flowers, and hid her burning face with them. This was her first bouquet, the most exquisite thing that had ever happened to her. She carried it off to her room, and put it in water; and when she went to bed she kept the candle burning that she might lie and look at it. The following week a menagerie came to the place. Alfred and Dicksie went to it, and their description filled Beth with a wild desire to see the creatures, especially the chimpanzee. The boys were quite ready to take her, but how was it to be managed? The menagerie was only to be there that one night more, but it would be open late, and they would be allowed to go because animals are improving. Could she get out too? Beth considered intently. "I can go to bed early," she said at last, "and get out by the acting-room window." "But suppose you were missed?" Alfred deprecated. "Then I should be found out," said Beth; "but you would not." "How about being recognised in the menagerie, though?" said Dicksie. "You see there'll be lots of people, and it's all lighted up."