EASTER LILIES. 



The one delight of Grace Newton's Hfe 

 was to visit Aunt Chatty White. Winter 

 or summer, autumn or spring — no matter 

 what the season nor how bright or how 

 gloomy the weather — there was sure to 

 be found seme unusually fascinating 

 pleasure or employment. There were 

 books of every description with which to 

 whiFe away the winter days. And in 

 summer the trees were full of fruit, the 

 yard with flowers, the fields and garden 

 with good things, while the birds saucily 

 claimed possession of all. 



But when she was told by Mamma 

 that she should open Easter with Aunt 

 Chatty her heart was a-flutter with a joy 

 not known before. Easter — her first 

 away from home ! And she was sure that 

 there would be presents, and new books 

 to read, and new stories to hear, and rab- 

 bits' nests to visit, and — well, it would 

 be the gladdest Easter of. her Hfe, she 

 was certain. 



It was Good Friday when she arrived 

 at her aunt's quiet country home. The 

 winter was dying away and spring was 

 making itself known and felt, while a 

 few birds were venturing to sing of sum- 

 mer's return. The buds were swelling, 

 the lawns and meadows were becoming 

 green, and in the woods Grace was sure 

 she could find, should she try, a violet, 

 a bloodroot bloom, or a dainty snowdrop. 

 For these were the first flowers, and 

 sometimes appeared, her mother told her, 

 before the snow was fairly gone. 



A surprise awaited her, however; for, 

 as she was wandering aimlessly about the 

 garden borders that afternoon, she sud- 

 denly came upon a bed of golden buds 

 and blossoms. After gazing at them a 

 few moments to make sure she was not 

 dreaming, she hastened away to Aunt 

 Chatty for an explanation. 



"Why, dearie, those are Easter flow- 

 ers," laughed her aunt. 



"But I thought Easter lilies were 

 white." 



"Not all of them. I have some white 

 ones — in another part of the garden. 

 Tliose you saw arc daffodils and jon- 

 quils." 



"John — who?" queried Grace, in aston- 

 ishment. 



"Jonquils," repeated Mrs. White,, 

 amused not a little at Grace's ignorance 

 and wonder. "Come! I'll show you 

 which is which." 



Grace ran on ahead, and was minute- 

 ly inspecting the tender young blossoms 

 when her aunt arrived. 



"The large double yellow ones are 

 daffodils. Those across yonder are the 

 white ones. Wait!" she called, for the 

 impatient child had already started to- 

 ward the bed of more familiar lilies. 

 "Here are the jonquils — these with cups. 

 Really the name for these, both the yel- 

 low and the white, is Narcissus. Pres- 

 ently I'll tell you how they came to have 

 that name. There are twenty or thirty 

 kinds, but the most perfect forms grow in 

 Europe and Japan. Cultivation has done 

 a great deal for the Narcissus, both in 

 this and other countries, but these of mine 

 are but the old-fashioned sort that grand- 

 mother planted here. Now let's go see 

 the white ones. Will they be in full 

 bloom for Easter?" 



"Yes," replied Grace. "See, here are 

 two now. Mamma has this kind," and 

 she fondled the snowy blossoms as 

 though they were friends of long stand- 

 ing. 



"These are, without doubt, the 'lilies 

 of the field' that Christ spoke of," said 

 Aunt Chatty. "Isn't it nice of them to 

 hurry from the ground in the spring in 

 time to remind us of the resurrection of 

 Him who commended them so highly? 

 And their whiteness tells us of His purity, 

 as though they wish to honor Him as 

 long as they live." 



"But tell me, aunty, how they came to 

 have that other name," urged Grace pres- 

 ently. 



"Oh, yes. That story was told by the 

 ancients to frighten boys and girls who 

 were selfish and unkind." 



To the cosy sitting room they repaired, 

 for the air had not yet become warm J 

 enough for so lengthy a stay out of T" 

 doors. When l:)oth were comfortably set- 

 tled Aunt Chatty began: 



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