Mrs. Williams
loved flowers and had a small but beautiful garden. In the summer, her roses
were always the best in her street.
One summer
afternoon her bell rang, and when she went to the front door, she saw a small
boy outside. He was about seven years old, and was holding a big bunch of beautiful
roses in his hand.
'I am selling roses,' he said. 'Do you want any? They are quite cheap. Five pence for a big bunch. They are fresh. I picked them this afternoon.'
'My boy,' Mrs. Williams answered, 'I pick roses whenever I want, and don't pay anything for them, because I have lots in my garden.'
'Oh, no, you haven't,' said the small boy. 'There aren't any roses in your garden—because they are here in my hand!'
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