"How long do you think it will be before I'm grown up?"

"I don't want you to grow up. I can remember now just how you looked the
day I told you about the scent bottles. You had on a pink dress, with a
sash to match, pink stockings, little white shoes with black buttons,
and the most fetching white sunbonnet. Your hair was falling in curls
all round your face and it was such a warm day that the curls clung to
your neck and annoyed you. You toddled over to me and said: 'Allison,
please fix my's turls.' Don't you remember?"

She smiled and said she had forgotten. "But," she added, truthfully,
"I've often wondered how I looked when I was dressed up."

"Then," he continued, "I told you how the scent bottles grew on the
roots of the rose bushes, and, after I went home, you went and pulled up
as many as you could. Aunt Francesca was very angry with me."

"Yes, I remember that. I felt as though you were being punished for my
sins. It was years afterward that I saw I'd been sufficiently punished
myself. Look!"

She leaned toward him and showed him a narrow white line on the soft
flesh between her forefinger and her thumb, extending back over her
hand.

"A thorn," she said. "I shall carry the scar to my dying day."

With a little catch in his throat, Allison caught the little hand and
pressed it to his lips. "Forgive me!" he said.