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mall came into the nursery garden taking the gravel path at a gallop, the steps at a jump, tiptoeing to reach the doorbell--then she turned sharp against the temptation of peering through the coloured glass at the door sides to see sombre Anne Mitchell come down the hall multicoloured--green face, red dress, blue hair. The turn brought Small face to face with the Orange Lily.
Lily rolled her petals grandly wide as sentinelled doors roll back for royalty. The entrance to her trumpet was guarded by a group of rust powdered stamens - her powerful perfume pushed past these. What was in the bottom of Lily's trumpet? What was it that the stamens were so carefully guarding? Small pushed the stamens aside and looked. The trumpet was empty the emptiness of a church after parson and people have gone, when the music is asleep in the organ and the markers dangle from the Bible on the lectern.
--The Book of Small by Emily Carr.
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