um, and whether if I saw them I should care
for it no longer; and then I think no, that no flower could ever be so
beautiful to me as my flower, and that I love it far better, rearing its
pretty head so bravely in this dull stuffy room, than if it bloomed in
the loveliest garden that was ever planted. And many a time when I have
felt a little downhearted, with being a burden to you, mother, and the
pain seeming as if it was more than I could bear, it has seemed to say;
'Patience! poor little Faith, it will be over soon.' Do you think there
will be flowers in heaven, mother?"

"Like enough, child," said the woman, dreamily; "there will be
everything that is beautiful there, I expect," and she heaved a deep
sigh. Poor woman! there was little of beauty in her present life, and
the country home of which her child had spoken was but a far off
recollection to her now.

"I should like to have it near me when I die," the sick girl went on, "I
have never had a friend you know, mother, but my flower has seemed to
stand in the place of one to me, and I should like to look at it just at
the last."

"Lord love you, child! don't talk of dying; unless you want to break my
heart," said the mother, with a tone of sharp impatience in which there
was more of grief than of anger.

While she was speaking, Fairy Violet glided in at the open door.

The room was poor, but scrupulously clean, and the scanty furniture was
as bright as diligent rubbing could make it. On a rude couch, opposite
the open window, lay a girl of about sixteen years of age, but with a
wan-pinched face that made her look ten years older. Constant pain had
blanched all the colour she might once have possessed, and the blue
veins showed clearly through the thin transparent skin. She turned her
head as Violet entered, and a faint flush of pleasure rose on her pale
cheeks.

"Mother! do you smell the violets?" she exclaimed, eagerly, "the room
seems filled with fragrance."

"It must be your fancy, child," said the woman wearily; "I smell
nought."

By this time Violet had settled herself in one of the blossoms of the
geranium, and was busy at work.

"Look, look, mother!" cried the sick girl again, "this at least is no
fancy;" and mother and daughter gazed at the flower in amazement as the
faded colour grew bright under the fairy's magic touch. "'Tis the moving
it to a sunnier spot, or mayhap 'twas the water I gave it this morning,"
said the woman, recovering hersel