"It is such a long, long way in and out.

Why do you look so sulky?
and you are kicking the wicket to pieces." "I do not like you to talk with strangers," said Jeannot, sullenly and sadly.
Bebee laughed as she sat on the edge of the thatch, and looked at the shining gray skies of the early day, and the dew-wet garden, and the green fields beyond, with happy eyes that made the familiar scene transfigured to her.
"Oh, Jeannot, what nonsense! As if I do not talk to a million strangers every summer! as if I could ever sell a flower if I did not! You are cross this morning; that is what it is." "Do you know the man's name ?" said Jeannot, suddenly.
Bebee felt her cheeks grow warm as with some noonday heat of sunshine.
She thought it was with anger against blundering Jeannot's curiosity.
"No! and what would his name be to us, if I did know it?
I cannot ask people's names because they buy my roses." "As if it were only roses!" There was the length of the garden between them, and Bebee did not hear as she sat on the edge of her roof with that light dreamful enjoyment of air and sky and coolness, and all the beauty of the dawning day, which the sweet vague sense of a personal happiness will bring with it to the dullest and the coldest.
"You are cross, Jeannot, that is what it is," she said, after a while.
"You should not be cross; you are too big and strong and good.

Go in and get my bowl of bread and milk for me, and hand it to me up here.

It is so pleasant.

It is as nice as being perched on an apple-tree." Jeannot went in obediently and handed up her breakfast to her, looking at her with shy, worshipping eyes.