THE IRIS. 
Mary stopped, but did not approach the Iris, for 
her little heart was awed by its dark color and mys¬ 
terious motion. Why did she tremble all the time ? 
Not a breath of air stirred the other flowers. Did 
not the Sun love her? Were not her sister Irises 
kind ? They looked gay, laughing in the sunshine, 
and dressed in their rainbow robes; but she stood 
apart,—sad, solitary, and in a mourning garb. Mary 
wished she knew her sad secret, but she could not 
ask. She was very well acquainted with the Blue 
Flags of the meadow, and the Flower-de-luces of 
