I ran towards him. "Gardener, look what father gave me for my birthday," I said and held up two bright green gardening gloves on my hands.

"Those are lovely, the shade goes well with grass. How old are you again, if I may ask?"

"Silly, I'm nine years. You are fifteen years, it would do you good to remember!" I pouted.

He held his hands up apologetically, "Sorry, sorry. How about you help me pull weeds with your new gloves," and pointed to some dandelions to the right of him.

"Really! Oh, those flowers are so pretty," I gazed in awe. He laughed.

"They are pretty, but those are weeds, not flowers and the ones we must pick. If you like you may pick some to take to your mother and put in a vase."

"I would love too!"

I spent the rest of the afternoon picking dandelions and chatting as I was a talkative child and had no other children around to play with. He listened without any hint of annoyance present. I am happy for that.