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300 “It needs no urging, sir,” said Mark. “I’d be glad to take your name. There’s no way I can express fully how much I owe you, nor how I’m yours. That goes a little toward doing it.”

“As to owing, that’s nonsense. We serve one another, we three members of the Moulton family. It’s not nonsense to feel that you belong to us beyond verbal labelling. It may be nonsense, but it is true, that I’d like my name to be incorporated with yours, so that when the book appears, compiled by Austin Moulton and Mark Moulton Walpole, those who see it will recognize you as my kin. As you surely are, my boy, though you did not spring from my stock. We are of the same botanical genus—and genius!—at least. Much obliged for your instant consent to grafting my name on yours. Come home, Mark; Mrs. Moulton is waiting.” Mr. Moulton laid his hand on Mark’s shoulder and the elder man and the younger one looked into each other’s eyes with a smile that said everything.

The Garden girls, Mrs. Garden, and Win went with them to the gate. Florimel chased Mark with the intention of boxing his ears twenty times, the birthday chastisement, with “one to grow on.” She was fleet-footed, but