her only friend
eating it, while a little moisture still trickled out from her big eyes
on to her flushed cheeks, and the words still hummed in her brain:

"Peace on earth and mercy mild,
Jesus Christ a little child."

Then, still speaking no word, she ran out and put clean sheets on her
and her man's bed. She was on wires, she could not keep still, and all
the morning she polished, polished. About noon she went out into her
garden, and from under the glass plucked every flower that grew
there--snowdrops, scillas, "angels' tears," quite two dozen blossoms.
She brought them into the little parlour and opened its window wide. The
sun was shining, and fell on the flowers strewn on the table, ready to
be made into the nosegay of triumphant happiness. While she stood
fingering them, delicately breaking half an inch off their stalks so
that they should last the longer in water, she became conscious of
someone on the pavement outside the window, and looking up saw Mrs.
Clirehugh. The past, the sense of having been deserted by her friends,
left her, and she called out:

"Come in, Eliza; look at my flowers!"

Mrs. Clirehugh came in; she was in black, her cheekbones higher, her
hair looser, her eyes bigger. Mrs. Gerhardt saw tears starting from
those eyes, wetting those high cheekbones, and cried out:

"Why, what's the matter, dear?"

Mrs. Clirehugh choked. "My baby!"

Mrs. Gerhardt dropped an "angels' tear," and went up to her.

"Whatever's happened?" she cried.

"Dead!" replied Mrs. Clirehugh. "Dead o' the influenza. 'E's to be
buried to-day. I can't--I can't--I can't--" Wild choking stopped her
utterance. Mrs. Gerhardt put an arm round her and drew her head on to
her shoulder.

"I can't--I can't--" sobbed Mrs. Clirehugh; "I can't find any flowers.
It's seein' yours made me cry."

"There, there!" cried Mrs. Gerhardt. "Have them. I'm sure you're
welcome, dearie. Have them--I'm so sorry!"

"I don't know," choked Mrs. Clirehugh, "I 'aven't deserved them." Mrs.
Gerhardt gathered up the flowers.

"Take them," she said. "I couldn't think of it. Your poor little baby.
Take them! There, there, he's spared a lot of trouble. You must look on
the bright side, dearie."

Mrs. Clirehugh tossed up her head.

"You're an angel, that's what you are!" she said, and grasping the
flowers she hurried out, a little black figure passing the window in the
sunlight.

Mrs. Gerhardt stood above the emptied table, thinking: "Poor de