or sad with a beautiful park to wander in? who with an
observant eye could walk through the shady lanes or ramble in the woods
without seeing objects of interest and admiration at every step?

"How good of God to not only give us flowers, but eyes to see their
beauty and hearts to love them," the child said solemnly one day. "What
would the world be if there were not any flowers?"

Bertie, who chanced to overhear her soliloquy, remarked that he thought
they could get on better without flowers than trees, vegetables, or even
animals; "because, we cannot eat flowers, can we?"

"But if you had read a little about the subject, Bertie," Agnes replied,
"you would learn that we could have neither trees nor vegetables nor
fruit if we had not flowers first. But it's those dear little wild
things that seem to grow here just to make us happy that I love best. I
prefer painting flowers to anything."

"I don't; great artists never trouble about flowers," Eddie said,
joining them. "When I grow up, I'll paint splendid figures and grand
scenes, like the 'Raising of Lazarus,' or the 'Descent from the Cross':
those are the kind of pictures great men love to paint and the world to
look at."

"But Uncle Clair says people can't paint like the old masters now, and
that no one would buy their pictures if they did," Agnes replied.

"I wish some of you would paint up this mask for me like a North
American Indian," Bertie interrupted, pulling a hideous pasteboard face
from his pocket. "Will you, Eddie? If I attempt to put on the war-paint,
I shall make a mess of it." But Eddie indignantly refused to lend his
talent to such base uses, and Agnes declared she would paint the face
with pleasure, only she had not the least idea what an Indian was like.
That was an unforeseen difficulty, but Bertie suggested their looking in
the library for a book with pictures, and copying one.

As they approached the house, they were all surprised to see Dr. Bird's
carriage at the door. "Some one must be ill, surely--I hope it's not
papa," Eddie cried, hurrying on in advance, Bertie and Agnes following.
"He seemed quite well this morning. Oh! there's Lawyer Hurst's gig--what
can he want? Johnson," to a servant standing at the door, "whatever is
the matter? Is papa ill?"

"It's nothing, my dears--that is, nothing to be frightened about," Mrs.
Mittens said, as the boys, both startled-looking, rushed into the
dining-room. "Your papa had a turn this morning, an