the little girl's
neck, "she brought her footstool to the queen's side and told the queen
a story."

"Just like me!"

"Yes, dear. And the queen was very happy because the palace was no
longer dark and gloomy; it was bright with the sunshine her little girl
had made."

"The princess, you mean."

"The princess was a little girl."

"And was the queen a lady?"

"The queen was the little girl's mamma."

"Oh, I know!" said Flora, jumping about in high glee, "I am the little
princess and you are the queen, and this is the palace."

"Yes," said mamma.

"And papa is the king, and sister is the tall princess."

"Yes, dear."

"And I hope," she added, earnestly, "that the princess will never forget
that she knows how to make sunshine."

"The queen hopes so too," said mamma.

CHAPTER II.

FLORA WAITS FOR THE SUN TO DRINK UP THE WATER.

The next morning there was sunshine everywhere; inside of the palace and
out. The long storm was over. Flora waited in the porch for the sun to
drink up the moisture from the soaked ground, that she might run about
and enjoy her freedom. She had been housed so long--three whole days!
And now the grass was springing up all around, and the swelling buds
were ready to burst forth into leaves. And the birds were singing gaily
as if they too were glad to come out and play.

Flora watched them as they hopped from twig to twig, and wished she
could borrow their brown wings, for she wanted to fly away over the tops
of the houses and sing with them a joyful song. But she could not borrow
the brown wings, and she could not turn herself into a bird. So she sat
down on the upper step which the sun had dried, and tried to feel
satisfied with the nimble feet and curious fingers that God had given to
her instead of wings and claws.

The steam was rising from the ground, and the bright drops sparkled on
the tender blades of grass. When the last bright drop had disappeared,
and there was no longer any steam, she was at liberty to go where she
pleased. She felt very comfortable in her thick jacket and leather
boots, for it was as yet too early in the season to lay them by, but if
she could have had her own way, she would have welcomed the pleasant
morning in ankle-ties and a shaker.

"Mamma knows best," she whispered to Dinah, the black baby, with blue
buttons for eyes and ravelled-out yarn for hair. "Mamma knows best, and
I hope you are 'vinced of it."

The sun had gone away from the