he elf with a
warning look.

"These lovely creatures are the spirits of flowers who did some good
deed when they bloomed on earth, and their reward is to live here
forever where there is no frost, no rain, no stormy wind to hurt them.
Those poor plants have just come, for their work is done, and their
souls will soon be set free from the shapes that hold them. You will see
how beautiful they have made themselves when out of the common flowers
come souls like the perfect ones who are welcoming them.

"That dandelion lived in the room of a poor little sick girl who had no
other toy, no other playmate. She watched and loved it as she lay on her
bed, for she was never well, and the good flower, instead of fading
without sunshine in that dreary room, bloomed its best, till it shone
like a little sun. The child died with it in her hand, and when she no
longer needed it, we saved it from being thrown away and brought it here
to live forever.

"The clover grew in a prison-yard, and a bad boy shut up there watched
it as the only green thing that made him think of the fields at home
where his mother was waiting and hoping he would come back to her.
Clover did her best to keep good thoughts in his mind and he loved her,
and tried to repent, and when he was told he might go, he meant to take
his flower with him but forgot it in his hurry to get home. We did not
forget, for the wind that goes everywhere had told us the little story,
and we brought brave Clover out of prison to this flower-heaven.

"Mignonette lived in a splendid garden, but no one minded her, for she
is only a little brown thing and hid in a corner, happy with her share
of sunshine and rain, and her daily task of blossoming green and strong.
People admired the other fine flowers and praised their perfume, never
knowing that the sweetest breath of all came from the nook where
Mignonette modestly hid behind the roses. No one ever praised her, or
came to watch her, and the gardener took no care of her. But the bees
found her out and came every day to sip her sweet honey, the butterflies
loved her better than the proud roses, and the wind always stopped for
a kiss as it flew by. When autumn came and all the other plants were
done blossoming, and stood bare and faded, there was modest Mignonette
still green and fresh, still with a blossom or two, and still smiling
contentedly with a bosom full of ripened seeds,--her summer work well
done, her happy heart ready for th