iting had taught him many a lesson.

He tended the plant now with his own hands, in the light of day and in the
sight of all men. Long he cherished it, and steadily it grew, and the man's
thought grew with it. Finally the bud appeared, increasing and beautifying
daily, until, one morning, a divine fragrance spread beyond the farthest
limits of that garden, for the flower had bloomed, spotless, fit for a holy
gift; and the man looked upon it humbly and not as his own; but rejoiced in
the day of its perfection that he might leave all else behind him, and,
carrying it to the King, lay it at His feet and receive His bidding; and so
go forth upon his joyous quest.

* * * * *

Hazel closed the book. Flossie was watching her attentively. Miss Fletcher
had laid down her sewing and was wiping her spectacles.

"Did you like it?" asked Hazel.

"Yes," replied Flossie. "I wish I knew what that flower was."

"Mother says the blossom is consecration," replied Hazel. "I forget what
she said the bulb was. What do you think it was, aunt Hazel?"

"Humility, perhaps," replied Miss Fletcher.

"Yes, that's just what she said! I remember now. Oh, let's go and look at
yours and see how the bud is to-day." Hazel sprang up from the grass and
carefully pushed Flossie's chair to the flower-bed.

"Oh, aunt Hazel, it's nearly out," she cried, and Miss Fletcher, who had
remained behind still polishing her spectacles with hands that were not
very steady, felt a little frightened leap of the heart. She wished the
Quest Flower would be slower.

The afternoon was as happy a one to the children as that of the day before.
They greatly enjoyed the dainty lunch from the little tea-set. They had
cocoa to-day instead of the beaten egg and milk; then, just before Hazel
went home, Miss Fletcher let her water the garden with a fascinating
sprinkler that whirled and was always just about to deluge either the one
who managed it or her companions.

In the child's little hands it was a dangerous weapon, but Miss Fletcher
very kindly and patiently helped her to use it, for she saw the pleasure
she was bestowing.

That night Hazel had a still more joyous tale to tell of her happy day; and
uncle Dick went out doors with her after supper and watched her water her
own garden bed and listened to her chatter with much satisfaction.

"So Miss Fletcher doesn't care to come and lunch in my yard," he remarked.

"No," returned Hazel,