Sons and Lovers - Daimon Club

Her son went to her side. Under the fence, in a little bed,
was a ravel of poor grassy leaves, such as come from very immature bulbs,
and three scyllas in bloom. Mrs. Morel pointed to the deep blue flowers.
"Now, just see those!" she exclaimed. "I was looking at
the currant bushes, when, thinks I to myself, 'There's something
very blue; is it a bit of sugar-bag?' and there, behold you!
Sugar-bag! Three glories of the snow, and such beauties!
But where on earth did they come from?"
"I don't know," said Paul.
"Well, that's a marvel, now! I THOUGHT I knew every weed
and blade in this garden. But HAVEN'T they done well? You see,
that gooseberry-bush just shelters them. Not nipped, not touched!"
He crouched down and turned up the bells of the little
blue flowers.
"They're a glorious colour!" he said.
"Aren't they!" she cried. "I guess they come from Switzerland,
where they say they have such lovely things. Fancy them against
the snow! But where have they come from? They can't have BLOWN here,
can they?"
Then he remembered having set here a lot of little trash
of bulbs to mature.
"And you never told me," she said.
"No! I thought I'd leave it till they might flower."
"And now, you see! I might have missed them. And I've never
had a glory of the snow in my garden in my life."
She was full of excitement and elation. The garden was
an endless joy to her. Paul was thankful for her sake at last
to be in a house with a long garden that went down to a field.
Every morning after breakfast she went out and was happy pottering
about in it. And it was true, she knew every weed and blade.
Everybody turned up for the walk. Food was packed, and they
set off, a merry, delighted party. They hung over the wall of the
mill-race, dropped paper in the water on one side of the tunnel
and watched it shoot out on the other. They stood on the foot-bridge
over Boathouse Station and looked at the metals gleaming coldly.