The Roses Repulse the Refugees Gently the raft grated on the sandy beach.

Then Betsy easily waded ashore, the mule following closely behind her.

The sun was now shining and the air was warm and laden with the fragrance of roses.
"I'd like some breakfast, Hank," remarked the girl, feeling more cheerful now that she was on dry land; "but we can't eat the flowers, although they do smell mighty good." "Hee-haw!" replied Hank and trotted up a little pathway to the top of the bank.
Betsy followed and from the eminence looked around her.

A little way off stood a splendid big greenhouse, its thousands of crystal panes glittering in the sunlight.
"There ought to be people somewhere 'round," observed Betsy thoughtfully; "gardeners, or somebody.

Let's go and see, Hank.