Dr. Brown must know a great deal about flowers, much more than I
thought he did; I told him so, and he said, "Didn't think I looked as
like a flower sprite as yourself, eh? 'Pon my word, I don't think I'm
unlike one of your favourites. Tall, ye know, big beaming face, eh?
There are people more unlike a Sunflower than Dr. Brown! Ha! ha! ha!"
He laughed, he always does; but he told me quite delightful things
about flowers: how they sleep, and breathe, and eat, and drink, and
catch cold in draughts, and turn faint in the sun, and sometimes are
all the better for a change ("like Miss Margery," so he said), and
sometimes are home-sick and won't settle ("which I've a notion might
be one of your follies, Miss Grace"), and turn pale and sickly in dark
corners or stuffy rooms. But he never knew one that went home at
night.
Except for being too big for our chairs and tables, and for going
voyages of discovery, I do think Dr. Brown would make a very nice
person to play with; he seems to believe in fancy things, and he knows
so much, and is so good-natured. He asked me what flower I thought
Jael was like; and when I told him Margery could imitate her exactly,
he said he must see that some day. I dared not tell him Margery can do
him too, making his speeches in the shovel hat we found in an old old
hat-box near Bass's Straits, and a pair of old black gloves of
Grandmamma's.
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