It would be impossible to tell you how happy and proud the children were as they showed their vegetable garden, with its beautiful neat beds bordered with nasturtiums. You can imagine how they looked, for if you read the garden lists in early chapters of this story, you know what they had growing. “Everybody may pick a bouquet,” said Mary Frances, seizing Eleanor’s hand and leading the party to the flower garden. Just as they started, Doctor Hopewell drove up with his son and two daughters. “We couldn’t help stopping,” he declared. “You made such a beautiful picture.” They were welcomed with delight, and the girls insisted upon their having some salad and ice-cream. “Isn’t this the most charming thing you ever heard of!” sighed Marjorie Hopewell. “It’s just like a girl’s dream come true!” her sister Helen agreed. “The girls will never get over this. To have peace I’ll have to turn farmer yet! Bill and Bob will have to give me pointers!” their brother Harry laughed. “Indeed, I’d like to see you all doing what these young people have done,” their father told them. The doctor and his family left in about an hour, with flowers for Mrs. Hopewell, but the other guests stayed until five o’clock, sitting on the easy chairs which Billy had placed along the walk in front of the play house. The day was so beautiful—not too warm, not too cool; not a rain cloud in the sky, but scattered about with little white fleecy “flocks of lambs” clouds, as Mary Frances said. Perhaps that and the beauty of the garden made them linger, but they seemed sorry to leave. “You will all come again! Soon!” Mary Frances and Billy made them promise. “And you’ll come to our garden party next year! We’ll have both Bob and Eleanor for partners then!” CHAPTER LIV FEATHER FLOP’S CONCEIT “OH, Feather Flop! Feather Flop!” called Mary Frances, as she carried a pan of the “left overs” of the garden party out to the rooster the next morning. Feather Flop made some queer gurgling noise in his throat. “Why, what’s the matter, old fellow?” she asked in alarm. “Matter?” cawed Feather Flop hoarsely. “Matter? Why, this: I’ve nearly crowed my bill off trying to call you. I’m so hoarse I can scarcely whisper! I grew so weak, finally I had to lean up against the fence to crow!” “Mercy! Was it as bad as that?” asked Mary Frances. “Why, I must have been so tired out from our garden party that I slept so soundly I didn’t hear. I’m sorry—you must have wanted to see me very particularly, too!” “‘Our garden party!’” echoed Feather Flop. “‘Our garden party!’ As though any mention had been made of me!” “Oh! oh! oh!” cried Mary Frances. “Oh, was that it, Feather Flop? I never thought—really! I supposed I must keep you a secret just as I’ve been accustomed with other fairy folks.”