her?"

"No, I didn't, deary--I'm sorry. I saw her once or twice, but she went
away, soon after we came here."

"Never mind," Ruth said, hurriedly, for Mrs. Thorne's family had never
forgiven her runaway marriage.

"Come into the garden," Miss Ainslie suggested, and Ruth followed
her, willingly, into the cloistered spot where golden lilies tinkled,
thrushes sang, and every leaf breathed peace.

Miss Ainslie gathered a bit of rosemary, crushing it between her white
fingers. "See," she said, "some of us are like that it takes a blow to
find the sweetness in our souls. Some of us need dry, hard places, like
the poppies "--pointing to a mass of brilliant bloom--"and some of us
are always thorny, like the cactus, with only once in a while a rosy
star.

"I've always thought my flowers had souls, dear," she went on; "they
seem like real people to me. I've seen the roses rubbing their cheeks
together as if they loved each other, and the forget-me-nots are little
blue-eyed children, half afraid of the rest.

"Over there, it always seems to me as if the lavender was a little woman
in a green dress, with a lavender bonnet and a white kerchief. She's one
of those strong, sweet, wholesome people, who always rest you, and her
sweetness lingers long after she goes away. I gather all the flowers,
and every leaf, though the flowers are sweetest. I put the leaves away
with my linen and the flowers among my laces. I have some beautiful
lace, deary."

"I know you have--I've often admired it."

"I'm going to show it to you some day," she said, with a little quiver
in her voice, "and some other day, when I can't wear it any more, you
shall have some of it for your own."

"Don't, Miss Ainslie," cried Ruth, the quick tears coming to her eyes,
"I don't want any lace--I want you!"

"I know," she answered, but there was a far-away look in her eyes, and
something in her voice that sounded like a farewell.

"Miss Thorne," called Joe from the gate, "here's a package for yer. It
come on the train."

He waited until Ruth went to him and seemed disappointed when she turned
back into the garden. "Say," he shouted, "is Hepsey to home?"

Ruth was busy with the string and did not hear. "Oh, look!" she
exclaimed, "what roses!"

"They're beautiful, deary. I do not think I have ever seen such large
ones. Do you know what they are?"

"American Beauties--they're from Mr. Winfield. He knows I love them."

Miss Ainslie started violently. "From