ne state now, so full of buds. I told
her I knew you would like to give it to her; you are so fond of Mrs.
Marshall, you know."

5. "Now, Kate, I am sorry, but I have otherwise engaged."

"Whom can it be to? you have so few intimates here."

"Oh, it is only one of my odd fancies."

"But do tell me, Florence."

"Well, cousin, you know the little pale girl to whom we give sewing?"

6. "What! little Mary Stephens? How absurd, Florence! This is just another
of your motherly, old-maidish ways; dressing dolls for poor children,
making bonnets, and knitting socks for all the little dirty babies in the
neighborhood. I do believe you have made more calls in those two vile,
ill-smelling alleys behind our house than ever you have in Chestnut
Street, though you know everybody is half dying to see you; and now, to
crown all, you must give this choice little bijou to a seamstress girl,
when one of your most intimate friends, in your own class, would value it
so highly. What in the world can people in their circumstances want with
flowers?"

7. "Just the same as I do," replied Florence, calmly. "Have you not
noticed that the little girl never comes without looking wistfully at the
opening buds? And don't you remember, the other morning she asked me so
prettily if I would let her mother come and see it, she was so fond of
flowers?"

8. "But, Florence, only think of this rare flower standing on a table with
ham, eggs, cheese, and flour, and stifled in that close little room, where
Mrs. Stephens and her daughter manage to wash, iron, and cook."

9. "Well, Kate, and if I were obliged to live in one coarse room, and
wash, and iron, and cook, as you say; if I had to spend every moment of my
time in toil, with no prospect from my window but a brick wall and a dirty
lane, such a flower as this would be untold enjoyment to me."

10. "Pshaw, Florence; all sentiment! Poor people have no time to be
sentimental. Besides, I don't believe it will grow with them; it is a
greenhouse flower, and used to delicate living."

11. "Oh, as to that, a flower never inquires whether its owner is rich or
poor; and poor Mrs. Stephens, whatever else she has not, has sunshine of
as good quality as this that streams through our window. The beautiful
things that God makes are his gifts to all alike. You will see that my
fair rose will be as well and cheerful in Mrs. Stephens's room as in
ours."

12. "Well, after all, how odd! When one gives to poor peop