THE ZABIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
2S0 
“Pictures, then.”said Amy. “ Do you like pictures?” 
Jenny’s face lighted up, Pictures?” she said. “ pic¬ 
tures of flowers and trees and birds, and such like, do 
you mean? O, I do like them. I’ve got some, some¬ 
where, that I look at in the winter when the flowers 
and leaves are all gone. Nelly, show them to the lady.” 
Amy’s eyes filled with tears as she tinned over the 
poor little collection of “pictures.” principally advertis¬ 
ing cards, which Nellie had begged for her sister from 
the shops in the village. Some of them were pretty 
enough, but most of them were miserable, gaudy things 
from which Amy’s fastidious taste revolted. 
“Which of them do you like best?” and Jenny, uu- 
hestitatingly, picked out two or three. 
"I like these violets,” she said, “and the long-legged 
bird with the sharp bill and the little peak of feathers 
on his head. And O, I think this is lovely.” 
“So it is,” said Amy, as she looked at the card which 
Jenny held, and noted the graceful arrangement of the 
Ivy leaves which surrounded it as a frame. “Well,” 
she said after a moment, “ I must go now, but if you 
like these things I will bring you some to-morrow. I 
had a birthday, last month, and everybody sent me 
cards. You shall have them all if you like them.” 
Jenny’s eyes sparkled with delight at the promise, 
and Anly made her escape hastily, feeling as if she 
could not bear any more just then. 
Perhaps Amy did more serious thinking on her way 
home than she had ever done in her life before. Part 
of the result came out in a conversation with her mother 
that evening. 
“ I am just as sorry as I can be, mamma.” she said. 
“ that I was so hateful this afternoon. I know you’ll 
forgive me, for you always do, but I want to tell you 
that I think I have found an employment for my time 
as long as we stay in Mortlake.” 
She told of the little brown house, with its patient 
little invalid—the whole story of her afternoon, in short. 
“I shall give her all my Christmas and Easter and 
birthday cards. Won’t it be a feast for her, mamma?” 
“Yes,” said Mrs. Lester, thoughtfully, “but I wish 
you could give her something that would be of more 
permanent benefit to her, something that would employ 
her during the long, dreary hours when she lies there 
alone.” 
“But what, mamma?” asked Amy. 
3Irs. Lester could not answer, and the subject dropped. 
Jenny was watching for Amy the next morning. A 
delicate tinge of color rose to her pale cheek and her 
eyes sparkled as she saw the little package which Amy 
carried in her hand. 
“ Lilies ! how beautiful! how white and fresh they 
look,” she said, looking with admiration at a spray of 
pure white Lilies on a ground of the faintest, most deli¬ 
cate blue, a very phantom of color. Roses, Pansies, 
Sweet-peas, all had word of admiration from her, but 
when Amy handed her a card of wild flowers, her ad¬ 
miration broke into rapture. 
“ Liverwort, the darlings!” she cried. Then the tears 
rose into her eyes and trembled there, as she looked 
long and lovingly at the purple flowers with their starry 
centres. 
“Whatisit, Jenny ?” Amy asked. “ If you love wild- 
flowere best, here are more, Violets and Buttercups and 
Daisies, and—here is a Golden-rod card. Do you love 
wild-flowers best, Jenny?” 
“I suppose so, Miss,” said Jenny, slowly, “but it is 
not so much that, as—Well, you see your Roses and 
Lilies, they’re beautiful and grand, like lords and Indies 
but the wild-flowers, they’re just common little things 
like Nelly and mo. I feel a sort of kin to them. And 
then, I used to see them in the woods, and O, the woods 
nreso beautiful. If I could only see them again] Wcused 
to go there in t he spring, Nelly and me, and get bunches 
of the flowers and sell them in the village. Plenty of 
people used to like to buy them that didn't know how 
beautiful the woods were and wouldn’t tako the trouble 
to go for themselves. Then we used to get Mint along 
the brooksides to sell ; in the summer there were Straw¬ 
berries and Blackberries ; and in the fall, wild Grapes 
and Chestnuts. It was getting Chestnuts that I hurt ray 
back,” said Jenny, with a sigh. 
“How?” asked Amy, gently. 
“Only just slipped and fell, as I’d often done before, 
but this time my back came against a stone. When I 
went to get up I couldn’t, and it hurt so that I didn’t 
know any more until I woke up and found myself in 
bed. Nelly had found sonic men that carried me home.” 
“Does it hurt now?" asked Amy. 
“No, but all my strength seems to have gone,” said 
Jenny, sighing. “ It was hard lying here at first, but 
I’ve got pretty well used to it now, only when I think 
of the woods and how pretty they were. And then we 
could get a little money to help mother along. We 
can’t do it now, Nelly is too little to go alone and I —” 
“ Who is your mother?” said Amy, suddenly. 
“ Her name is Leavitt, and she goes out by the day to 
work,” said Jenny. “ She’s got a good job now with 
some city people that have taken a house here—Lester, 
the name is. 
“Lester? Why, that’s us !” cried Amy. “You don’t 
mean to say that it is your mother—that good, patient, 
gentle little woman who comes every week to wash and 
iron 1 I never knew she had any children.” 
“ No, mother isn’t much of a talker,” said Jenny, but 
Nelly’s little voice interrupted her. 
“ Jenny,” said Nelly, “ can you sew on a button for 
me? I can’t keep my apron on without it.” • 
“ Let me,” said Amy, eagerly, but Jenny shook her 
head. 
“I like it,” she said, “it’s all I can do. If things to 
sew didn’t cost so much, I’d sew all the time. I’m al¬ 
ways glad when anybody tears things, for then they 
must be mended.” 
“I wonder—” said Amy, and then stopped short and 
said “ good-by ” instead. Then she walked slowly home¬ 
ward with the dawning of a new idea in her mind. 
“I have something to show you, Jenny,” she said, 
when she went to the cottage the next day. 
From the small bag which she carried, she drew out a 
piece of crewel-work—a Poppy, delicately wrought on a 
square of gray linen. 
“ How beautiful !’*' said Jenny, touching it reverently. 
“ What is it for?” 
“ Well, I hardly know.” said Amy, laughing ; “ I did 
it as much for something to do as anything. But I 
have something else here.” Then she took out a pack¬ 
age and unfolded it. There was a yard or so of crash, 
half a yard of coarse linen, some bits of silk, a bundle 
of many-colored crewels and silks and two or three 
crewel needles. 
“These are for you,” said Amy, “and I am going to 
