A TRAGEDY OF SPRING.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIII, Issue XII, 22 September 1894, Page 288

A TRAGEDY OF SPRING.

He had reached the front door in his usual morning sprint for the train, when his wife called for him, ‘ Oh, Tom.’ * Yes,’ he answered, with his hand on the knob. ‘ I had my garden fixed yesterday,’ she cried, * and I want you to bring me some plants from town.* • All right.,’ he replied ; ‘ what do you want? Hurry up, I must catch my train.’ ‘ Well,’ came the reflective voice from the dining-room, ‘ yon might bring me —’ * Ob, do hurry,’ be retorted, with a show of impatience. •Well, I think-’ • Quick,’ he shouted, with the door open ; • I hear the whistle —what is it ?’

* R-loses,’ was the answer that reached his ears, and he was off like a madman.

At noon he feared he might have been a little harsh that morning, so be went out and bought two dozen varieties of rosebushes, and carried the thorny, scratchy things home in the evening, to the peril of anyone who approached him. Then he laid the offering at his wife's feet, and was surprised to see her burst into tears. * What is the matter ?’ he asked, wonderingly. * Are not these right ?' * N no,’ she sobbed. • I don’t want roses.’ * But, my dear,’ be protested, * you certainly said roses this morning.’ ‘ I—l - know it !’ was the weeping answer. * You made me- you were in such a hurry, and “ roses ’’ was the shortest word I could think of at the moment. I w-wanted chrysanthemums and rhododendrons, but you would not give me time to say them.’