stones, and a neat trodden path down the middle, belonged to little
Bethea.
It grew things in a most wonderful way. Stocks and marigolds,
primroses and lupines, Canterbury bells and lavender; all came out at
their different seasons, and all flourished--for Bethea watered and
tended them so faithfully that they loved her.
"BETHEA WATERED AND TENDED THEM SO FAITHFULLY THAT THEY
LOVED HER."
LOVED HER."
On a soft spring day Bethea stood by her garden with scissors and
basket, snipping away at the brightest and best of her children;
carefully, so that she might not hurt them, and with judgment, so that
they might bloom again when they wished to.
"Do you know where you're going?" she said--"To the Hospital.
Grandmamma's going to take me, and you're being gathered to cheer up
the sick people there--aren't you pleased?" And the flowers nodded.
"I don't suppose I shall be picked. I don't think I'm good enough!"
whispered a very small purple pansy, who had only recently been
planted, to a beetle who happened to be crawling by. "I should like
to go with the others, though I don't suppose it would cheer anyone to
see me, I'm not light enough!"
"Don't be too sure," said the beetle solidly. "You've a nice velvety
softness about you, and then you have the best name of them all. What
sick person wouldn't like to have Heartsease?"
"I think I've got enough now," said Bethea, as she laid the last
primula in her basket.
