THE LAI) TEH FLORAL CAB LEFT. 
19 
Sylvia? No longer did the days drag, now that she had 
her hands full of work in which her very soul delighted. 
No longer did the room look gloomy, brightened as it 
always was by a cluster of flowers in a simple glass 
vase. The flowers varied as the days went on, but the 
vase was never empty. Now it was a cluster of white- 
fringed Marguerites, which reflected from their golden 
hearts all the sunshine which they had gathered in their 
short, bright lives. Now a few Carnations, white or 
scarlet or creamy-tinted, whose spicy breath filled all 
the room. Or a spray of great Lilies, all white and gold, 
like the garments of the blessed, or a cluster of purple 
Heliotrope, whose pure, sweet fragrance floated out like 
a breath of prayer. The evenings came all too soon, 
and yet it was pleasant in the dim room when the cur¬ 
tains were drawn and the gas lighted, and Sylvia, resting 
from her labors, could read aloud some new book fresh 
from the author’s brain, or the undying words of 
some— 
“ Bard sublime, 
Whose sounding footsteps echo 
Down the corridors of Time.” 
Aunt Lucretia was lured in, sometimes to listen to 
these readings, and Sylvia even fancied that now and 
then a softer shade stole over her grim features as the 
silent eloquence of the flowers, blending with the utter¬ 
ances of the great masters, touched some long-silent 
chord in her breast. 
So November and December drifted away almost un¬ 
marked, for Miss Lucretia’s stern creed admitted no 
notice of that debatable date, the twenty-fifth of De¬ 
cember. The last day of the year came in a mist of 
whirling whiteness, which shut out earth and sky alike 
from the keenest eye. All day and half the night the 
white birds danced and frolicked to the music of the 
wild wind’s whistling, and, when the New Year came, 
it dawned upon a dazzling pageant of blue and white 
and gold. Sylvia, drawing up her blind in the morning, 
was half blinded by the radiance, and Effie, peeping 
through the frost-covered panes, danced with delight at 
the glorious sight. 
“Actually, the reflection is so brilliant, mamma, that 
it almost seems as if the sunlight were coming into us,’’ 
said Sylvia. 
Ah, Sylvia, Sylvia! If you had but known it, the 
sunshine was coming to you. For, far away yet, but 
drawing momently nearer, a steamship was throbbing its 
foamy way across the Atlantic ocean, and, on the deck of 
the steamer, stood a man whose heart and eyes had 
leaped across the intervening space between him and 
his native shores. He had sailed for Europe in one of 
the Italian steamers eighteen months before, but his 
pleasure-trip had had a strange ending. When he left 
America he was suffering from the effects of over-work, 
and hardly had he landed in Italy when he was seized 
with brain fever. The true Italian fear of anything 
like aberration of mind led to his incarceration in a 
lunatic asylum. Months passed before he, once more 
restored to health of mind and body, could bribe one of 
his attendants to carry a message to the American con¬ 
sul, and further time was consumed in the formalities 
necessary for his release. And now he was hastening 
homeward, free, but consumed with anxiety for the 
welfare of those he had left behind him, and of whom 
he had heard no tidings during all his long and cruel 
absence. 
The bright New Year’s Day~Jwas ending; over the 
sparkling snow the sunset clouds were reflected in 
strange and magical splendor. Golden and purple and 
rosy gleamed the western clouds, and, in fainter, mel¬ 
low hues, the glittering snow-crest sent back the soft 
echo of their splendor. The glory beamed full upon 
Effie’s pale little face as'she watched it from her win¬ 
dow, and stray hints and gleams of it penetrated even 
into the gloomy room where Sylvia and her mother sat 
and talked of other New Year’s days in the life which 
seemed to lie so far behind them. 
There is a jingle of sleigh-bells through the keen, 
crisp air; then comes a sharp ring at the door-bell, afew 
quick questions in a voice, at the sound of which Sylvia 
starts to her feet and flushes rosy red, while Mrs. Nes¬ 
bitt turns paler than ever, and sinks back gasping in her 
chair. A flying foot upon the stairs, a door pushed 
hastily open, and—the old life, with its love and its 
light and its joy, has come back to them once more ! 
“ I was afraid that I might have serious trouble in 
finding you,” said Mr. Nesbitt, when, the first rapture 
and confused explanations over, they had settled down 
for a quiet talk. “I knew, of course, that you would 
have been obliged to leave the cottage, and I thought it 
probable that you might have come to New York, but I 
could not guess where to look for you. Of course all 
stores and offices are closed to-day, so I went to the 
house of my old friend, Ralph Harding. He was out, 
and the ladies, whom I found in the parlor, could not 
tell me your address, though they were sure that he 
knew it. They promised to send it to me as soon as 
Ralph returned, but, strangely enough, a Mr. Lawrence, 
who was calling there at the same time, was better in¬ 
formed. It is, thanks to him, that I am here now.” 
“ Effie’s Daphne again!” cried Sylvia. “We must add 
this happy New Year’s Day to all the rest that we owe 
that blessed child. How shall we ever pay the debt ?” 
“ I have an idea,” said Mrs. Nesbitt. “ I feel now as if 
I should never be sick again, but I know that it will be 
a long, long time, before I am good for much again. 
Do you think, Sylvia, that Mrs. Campbell would be wil¬ 
ling to come to us as a sort of housekeeper and seam¬ 
stress and upper-servant combined ? For, of course, we 
must begin.again in a very small way at first. She 
need not be afraid of being treated as a menial. She 
should have her own room, and Effie could go to school 
in winter and run wild all summer. It would be the 
making of the child, and I know that they both pine for 
the country. Do you think that they would consent to 
come, Sylvia?” 
Would they consent? Would the wild bird consent 
to leave its cage and go back to its life of woodland 
freedom ? No; Mrs. Campbell had no fear of accepting 
so nondescript a position in the Nesbitt household, nor 
need she have had any. 
If,' in the course of your suburban rambles, you come 
upon a tiny, picturesque cottage, not far from the great 
city, with a small garden all ablaze with color in front 
of it, and a miniature conservatory behind, if, upon the 
lawn, you see a slender but rosy and clear-eyed child, 
or a graceful “fairy princess,” why, you may be 
sure, that you have stumbled upon the home of the 
Nesbitts. 
And none need wonder that, of all flowers in the 
world, the dearest to Sylvia’s heart is the Daphne 
Odora. Helen F. More. 
