CHAPTER XX. 

 CUT FLOWERS. 



A PRETTY story was once told me about a little girl who 

 had a tiny garden of her own and worked in it entirely 

 by herself. She grew many kinds of flowers, but at the 

 time of the story she had only a very few roses in bloom. 

 She must have been a remarkably kind-hearted child to 

 do what she did. A clergyman called at the house and 

 she showed him her garden. While he was talking to 

 her he mentioned that a certain widow was feeling very 

 miserable and was in great trouble. She had just lost 

 her son. The little girl went to the house next day and 

 gave the woman the few precious roses grown in her little 

 garden. When the clergyman called at the child's home 



again, he sent for her. " You did so cheer Mrs. B the 



other day," he said. " She is quite different now." " But 

 it wasn't me that did it at all," protested the child. " She 

 wouldn't say anything to me, so I just pushed the flowers 

 into her hand and ran off. Why! " she cried, her eyes 

 dancing, " it must have been the flowers that did it." 



This illustrates very well what flowers can do. We all 

 want cheering up sometimes, and naturally we want to 

 cheer up our fellow-creatures, especially at the time I am 

 writing, those in hospital. There is nothing that cheers 

 better than a bunch of flowers, and though it is not a 

 costly gift, it speaks of thought and sympathy, both of 

 which are valued by hospital inmates. 



Some people are apt to be selfish with their flowers. 

 They say they have grown them to deck the borders and 



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