This may be my last day on earth, and I'll spend an hour with my flowers before I bid them good-bye forever." Phibbs pulled a bell-cord, and a soft faraway jingle was heard.

Then an old man came slowly around the corner of the house.

His bare head was quite bald.

He wore a short canvas apron and carried pruning-shears in one hand.

Without a word of greeting to his mistress or scarce a glance at her half recumbent form, he mounted the steps of the piazza and assisted Phibbs to lift the chair to the ground.
"How are the roses coming on, James ?" "Poorly, Miss," he answered, and turning his back returned to his work around the corner.