Mr. Dodgson lagged behind, and I saw him looking intently in the hedges and all about, as if he were searching for something. This aroused my curiosity. At length, stooping down, he gathered up something in his handkerchief. I could not see what he had found, but I felt very much interested. Holding the tied-up handkerchief above my head, he said, "This is for my other little Alice; she is a brave girl, and does not cry like a baby at being a wee bit tired. Oh! such a curious, lovely little flower is tied up here!" At this he waved the handkerchief above my head, and I, so anxious to see what was in it, skipped after him, forgetting the tears and the tired legs. "Tell me what it is," was my breathless request. No answer. Mr. Dodgson danced on, and I followed, father laughing at the two of us. When we were near dear old Wadham College (not a great distance from Long-Wall Street), Mr. Dodgson said to me, with much solemnity, "Alice, did you ever hear of a 'Bella perennis,' most wonderfully and beautifully made?" I was awestruck, and whispered, "Never. Is that it?" He nodded, and we went on again till the steps of our house came in view. By this time I was quiet and wondering, and hoping I should be allowed to see inside the handkerchief, and look at this wonderful, mysterious creation. Inside our hall was an old oaken bench, and there Mr. Dodgson sat down; I in front of him, in my favourite attitude, with my long, skinny arms clasped behind my back. I dare not speak as the knots were very, very slowly untied, and--oh! only a tiny, withered, half-dead, little daisy appeared to my astonished view! "Where is the beautiful 'Bella something?'" I cried, with a half-sob rising in my throat; I was so bitterly disappointed. "This is the 'Bella perennis,' child. See how beautifully and carefully it is made: one of God's fairest small field-flowers." I took it in my hand, and, giving Mr. Dodgson a big hug, I passed through the baize door, leaving my dear, kind friend with father. I never forgot that walk! It made a very deep impression on my childish mind, not easily effaced in the long after-years. If people only knew what the sympathy of a "real, grown-up friend" is to a shy child, what courage it gives to the trembling little heart! How few children would be set down as shy and stupid, and be thoroughly misunderstood (as some are now), if only there were more like Mr. Dodgson, who, though one of the cleverest of men, could yet stoop to win the love and confidence and enter into the joys and sorrows of his numerous child friends!