ere for one whose careless hand
wounded our little friend Violet, and broke the truest heart that ever
beat in a flower's breast. We are very angry with you, wicked Fairy;
go away and hide yourself."

"Ah," cried the shivering Elf, "where can I find shelter? I will go
to the violets: they will forgive and take me in."

But the daisies had spoken truly; the gentle little flower was dead,
and her blue-eyed sisters were weeping bitterly over her faded leaves.

"Now I have no friends," sighed poor Thistledown, "and must die of
cold. Ah, if I had but minded Lily-Bell, I might now be dreaming
beneath some flower's leaves."

"Others can forgive and love, beside Lily-Bell and Violet," said
a faint, sweet voice; "I have no little bud to shelter now, and you
can enter here." It was the rose mother that spoke, and Thistle saw
how pale the bright leaves had grown, and how the slender stem was
bowed. Grieved, ashamed, and wondering at the flower's forgiving
words, he laid his weary head on the bosom he had filled with sorrow,
and the fragrant leaves were folded carefully about him.

But he could find no rest. The rose strove to comfort him; but when
she fancied he was sleeping, thoughts of her lost bud stole in, and
the little heart beat so sadly where he lay, that no sleep came; while
the bitter tears he had caused to flow fell more coldly on him than
the rain without. Then he heard the other flowers whispering among
themselves of his cruelty, and the sorrow he had brought to their
happy home; and many wondered how the rose, who had suffered most,
could yet forgive and shelter him.

"Never could I forgive one who had robbed me of my children. I could
bow my head and die, but could give no happiness to one who had taken
all my own," said Hyacinth, bending fondly over the little ones that
blossomed by her side.

"Dear Violet is not the only one who will leave us," sobbed little
Mignonette; "the rose mother will fade like her little bud, and we
shall lose our gentlest teacher. Her last lesson is forgiveness;
let us show our love for her, and the gentle stranger Lily-Bell,
by allowing no unkind word or thought of him who has brought us all
this grief."

The angry words were hushed, and through the long night nothing was
heard but the dropping of the rain, and the low sighs of the rose.

Soon the sunlight came again, and with it Lily-Bell seeking for
Thistledown; but he was ashamed, and stole away.

When the flower