than she had been for a long time. He glanced in
through the window and saw her. Then she nodded, he nodded back, and
they both smiled.

"Be careful, above all, of the little plant!" said she.

Warm and sunny days came. The smith stayed at home now every evening. It
was green and lovely round the little cottage, and outside the window
there was a whole flower-bed, with many blossoms; but in the midst stood
the little plant the autumn wind had brought thither.

The smith's family stood around the flower-bed, and talked about the
flowers.

"But the plant that brother and I found is the most beautiful of all,"
said the girl.

"Yes, indeed it is," said the parents.

The smith bent down and took one of the leaves in his hand, but very
carefully, because he was afraid he might hurt it with his thick, coarse
fingers.

Then a bell was heard ringing in the distance. The sound floated out
over field and lake, and rang so peacefully in the eventide, just as the
sun sank behind the tree-tops in the forest. And every one bowed the
head, because it was Saturday evening, and it was a sacred voice that
sounded.

In a little while all was silent in the cottage; the inmates slumbered,
more tired, perhaps, than before, after the week's toils, but also much,
much happier. And round about, all was calm and peaceful.

But when Sunday's sun came up, the plant opened its bud,--and it bore
but a single one. When the cottage folks passed the little
flower-garden, they all stopped and looked at the beautiful, fragrant
blossom.

"It shall go with us to the house of God," said the wife, turning to her
husband. He nodded, and then she broke off the flower. The wife looked
at the husband, and he looked at her, and then their eyes rested on both
children; then their eyes grew dim, but became immediately bright again,
for the tears were not of sorrow, but of happiness.

When the organ's tones swelled and the people sang in the temple, the
flower folded its petals, for it had fulfilled its mission; but on the
waves of song its perfume floated upwards. And in the sweet fragrance
lay a warm thanksgiving from the little seed-down.

From "My Lady Legend," translated from the Swedish by Miss Rydingsvaerd.

Used by the special permission of the publishers, Lothrop, Lee & Shepard
Co.

* * * * *

Memory Gem:

I want it to be said of me by those who know me best that I have always
plucked a thistle and p