Disclaimer: I own none of it, sadly. All are Frances Hodgson Burnett's.
And to forwarn anyone who may be reading - I haven't written anything in quite a while.
"Archie, Archie! Look! Isn't it beautiful?" Her bright hair and pink ribbons twirled as she spun, her arms raised.
Archibald Craven laughed. "Of course it's beautiful – it's your garden." He picked off a rose, sliding it into her hair.
"Ben! Come in!" Laughing, Lilias danced around the irises, agate eyes sparkling.
"Ben Weatherstaff, look at the garden. After the rain, and now… look at it!"
"Aye, sir, that's a miracle, that is. I swear, ev'ry year, it grows prettier, tha' it mun. Tha' garden, 's like thee, fairer an' fairer still. Tha' grows th' graidliest roses in Yorkshire! It' th' spring. Eh! look at those plum blossoms, they 'ave growed well, they 'ave."
She laughed, walking up to him. "Ben, if anything ever happens, look after my roses and my Archie, will you?"
"Aye, aye! Of course Mrs Craven."
"Tell Pitcher to send up some cushions and the afternoon tea." Archibald smiled, lifting her gently onto her favourite seat in the tree. Roses climbed around it, framing her face. "Lilias and I are staying in the garden."
The afternoon sun mingled with laughter, poetry, singing and the sound of a robin chirping as it built its nest.