in the sun, and her tiny feet skipped lightly along as she came
dancing up the pathway.

That prolonged our lives! Old Peter dropped his hook to turn round and
look at his young mistress.

'What are you going to do, Peter?' she inquired, as she drew near, and
saw him take up his tools to resume work.

'Whoy, lop doun these 'ere things, Miss Zusie,' he replied, pointing at
us contemptuously.

'Oh, please don't destroy them! they are so pretty!' was her eager
exclamation.

'Purty, missie!' the old man repeated, with astonishment; 'whoy, them be
wild loike.'

'But I love them dearly,' she persisted; 'so please leave them there.'

'But the maister?' pursued Peter, rubbing his rough head in his
perplexity; 'he told me to clear roight up.'

Peter, it must be observed, was 'the odd man' about the farm; there is
always one.

'Father will say you did quite right to let them live,' replied the
little lady; 'he likes them as much as I do, for he says he remembers
them always growing here, coming up year after year without troubling
any one to look after them, and making the old wall a very
flower-garden.'

'Well, Miss Zusie, if so be ye sez so, I s'pose I must,' he acquiesced,
though I think he was greatly disappointed that he could not have his
own way about it; so there we were left, and we bloomed more than ever,
striving to do our best in gratitude to the little maiden.

Now, I have noticed, as a rule,--mind, every rule has exceptions,--that
good deeds, like good seed, seldom fall to the ground and wither away.
Both may lie fallow, for a while at least, but the flower comes up after
a while, and 'with what measure ye mete, it is meted to you again.' You
may not have remarked this, perhaps, but the fact holds good, proving
most emphatically the sacred truth, 'Blessed are the merciful, for they
shall obtain mercy.'

Now, when Susie saved our lives, she never thought that simple flowers
could ever repay her kindness, and for some time, it is true, we did
nothing, only strove to make the garden wall look gay with our sturdy
buds and blossoms.

But one day, I remember, Susie sat on the lawn close by the wall on
which we grew, very busy making a smart new dress for her doll, Miss
Arabella, who sat propped up by a work-box at her back, with her arms
straight out, and her toes turned in, but with a sweet smile upon her
waxen face. They were evidently engaged in earnest conversation, for
Susie kept speaking in her ow