A Little Florida Lady | Page 7

the
house. She was impatient to see everything in that half hour. She felt
that she needed a thousand eyes. The trees bewildered her. There were
so many varieties she had never seen before--magnolias with their
wonderful glossy foliage; bamboos with their tropical stalks covered
with luxuriant green; pomegranates; live-oaks and water-oaks; the wild
olive with its feathery white blossoms, and many others.
The moss on the oaks swayed back and forth, seeming to murmur,
"Beth, these trees are the best of playfellows. Climb up here with us.
We'll have great fun," but she would not heed them. There was too
much to see.
All of a sudden, she stopped perfectly still. She thought there must be a
fairy up in one of the trees with the most wonderful voice she had ever
heard. Such singing, she thought, was too sweet to be human.
She looked up and beheld a bird of medium size, and of plain plumage.
It cocked its little head to one side, and eyed the child as if it knew no
fear. It sang on undisturbed.

"Beth," this is what the warbler said to her, "come up into this beautiful
tree with us. Stay with us." The enticement of the bird, added to the
fascination trees had for her, was almost too much for so little a girl to
resist. However, she put her fingers into her ears, and ran on. But, she
did not escape temptation thus. Countless beds of roses, of geraniums,
and of many other flowers tempted her to linger, and gather the fragrant
blossoms, but, still she did not succumb, for there was greater beauty
ahead. She beheld a lovely avenue formed of orange trees and red and
white oleanders trimmed to a perfect archway. The winter had been a
mild one. Not only did luscious ripe oranges cling to the trees, but
green fruit was forming, and there was, also, a wealth of fragrant
blossoms. The oleanders, too, were coming into bloom.
Beth stopped for a moment to draw in some of the wonderful fragrance
that filled the air. No perfume is more delightful than that of orange
blossoms in their native grove. The fruit, too, looks more tempting on
the trees. The glistening green leaves are just the right setting for the
golden yellow balls. Beth wished to stop and eat some of the fruit, but
again she proved firm. She ran on and on under the shade of the
archway that extended a quarter of a mile at the very least. She ran so
fast that her breath shortened and her cheeks flamed.
At the end of the avenue was an arch of stone covered with climbing
Cherokees spread in wild confusion. Beth did not stop to gather any of
the pure, fragrant blossoms, for right in front of the arch was a wharf
leading out on the beautiful St. Johns. The river was from one to two
miles wide at this point. It glistened and rippled under the brilliant
sunshine. As Beth ran out on the wharf, she thought she had never seen
a sight more charming.
The wharf extended far out into the river, and near the end of it, Beth
came suddenly upon a boy with a loaf of bread in his hand. She stopped
undecided, and looked at the boy. He was, perhaps, three or four years
older than Beth. His hair was as light as hers was dark. His eyes were
blue, and his naturally fair skin was tanned. He looked up at Beth for an
instant, and frowned.
"What are you doing here, little un? I don't like girls to bother me. Go

away."
If there was one thing above another that made Beth's temper rise, it
was to be called "little one," and to be twitted upon being a girl. She
felt like making up a face at this boy, but, instead, she assumed as
much dignity as she could command.
"I won't go away. This is my place. What are you doing here?"
The boy laughed incredulously. "Your place, indeed. The Marlowes
own this place, and they are away. Good-bye."
This was too much for her. She stamped her foot in rage. "I won't go.
My papa bought this place to-day."
He looked a little interested. "Indeed? What's your name?"
"Elizabeth Davenport;" she said 'Elizabeth' to be dignified, "and really
my father owns the place."
"If what you say is so, I'd better go," he said somewhat sheepishly.
She relented. "Oh, I'll let you stay."
"I'm not sure I want to. I don't like girls. They're 'fraid-cats."
"I'm no 'fraid-cat," and her eyes snapped.
"How can you prove it, Elizabeth?"
"Don't call me that. I hate to be called Elizabeth."
"But you told me that was your name."
"Everybody calls me Beth. If