he was sorry, and
flew away to hunt a white moth, till clouds began to gather and a shower
came on. Then he hurried back to the tulips for shelter, sure they would
take him in because he had praised their gay colors, and they were vain
flowers. But when he came all wet and cold begging to be covered, they
laughed and shook their broad leaves till the drops fell on him faster
than the rain and beat him down.

"Go away, naughty fairy! we know you now, and won't let you in, for you
bring trouble wherever you go. You needn't come to us for a new cloak
when the shower has spoilt that one," they cried.

"I don't care, the daisies will be glad to take pity on so splendid an
elf as I am," said Thistle, as he flew down to the humble flowers in the
grass.

But all the rosy leaves were tightly closed and he knocked in vain, for
the daisies had heard of his pranks, and would not risk spoiling their
seeds by opening to such a naughty fellow.

He tried the buttercups and dandelions, the violets and mignonette, the
lilies and the honeysuckles, but all shut their doors against him and
told him to go away.

"Now I have no friends and must die of cold. If I had only minded
Lilybell I might be safe and warm as she is somewhere," sighed Thistle,
as he stood shivering in the rain.

"I have no little bud to shelter now, and you can come in here," said a
soft voice above him; and looking up, Thistle saw that he was under the
rose-tree where the dead bud hung broken on its stem.

Grieved and ashamed, the fairy gladly crept in among the warm red
leaves, and the rose-mother held him close to her gentle bosom where no
rain or chilly wind could reach him. But when she thought he was asleep
she sighed so sadly over her lost baby that Thistle found no rest, and
dreamed only sad dreams.

Soon the sun shone again and Lilybell came to find her friend; but he
was ashamed to meet her and stole away. When the flowers told Lily all
the harm Thistle had done she was very sorrowful, and tried to comfort
them. She cured the hurt birds and butterflies, helped the bees he had
robbed, and watered the poor rose till more buds came to bloom on her
stem. Then when all were well and happy again she went to find Thistle,
leaving the garden full of grateful friends.

Meantime, Thistle had been playing more pranks, and got into trouble. A
kind bee invited him to dinner one day, and the fairy liked the pretty
home in the hive; for the floors were of white wax