I can't bear to be different
from the rest of the girls. When the other girls go home in vacations, I
stay here with the housekeeper. My uncle says I ought to be thankful for
so good a home. But I'm not thankful. Oh, Granny, I want my mamma!"

Well girls, you may believe me, this poor child's story touched me very
much, and I thought how I could help her. I asked her uncle's address
and kissed her, and told her that Granny would be her friend, and we
went out of that lonely dark room, her little heart comforted. Then I
wrote to that uncle, and the result was-- But here come the Birds.

_Blanche_ (_to the other girls_). It begins to dawn on me what Granny's
dream means.

_Morna_. It's Alice, of course.

_Granny_. Hush!

[_Enter_ Birds. _Eight blue birds, six red birds, six yellow
birds. Each carries a cluster or wreath or basket of pink
laurel._]

_Granny_. Go back, little birds, and find Flora, your Queen.

[_They rush off and return dragging a large chair draped with
green cloth. Then they scamper out again._ Granny _blows a toy
whistle. The door opens, and enter_ Alice, _beautifully dressed
in white, a wreath of roses on her head, a small wand tipped with
a rose in her hand. On each side of her a blue bird walks.
Behind, in pairs, all the others march. They go once around the
room, and escort_ Alice _to her throne_. Granny _rises and makes a
low bow_.]

[Illustration: "HAIL, FLORA, QUEEN OF SUMMER!"]

_Granny_. Hail, Flora, Queen of Summer!

Hail, Flora, Queen off Summer! all Nature speaks your praises;
She spells them in her violets, and twines them with her daisies.

For you the lances lift of countless gallant grasses!
To you all fragrant odors drift, where'er your footstep passes.

Come make your subjects glad, these loyal hearts that love you!
Nor let a single-thought be sad, while bright the skies above you.

_Granny_. And now, my birds, have you not an offering for your Queen?

[_The birds march gayly around the room: as they pass_ Flora,
_each set pauses_.]

_Blue Birds_:

This time instead of laurel we bring you violets.

_Yellow Birds_:

And we have gathered roses, the flower for coronets.

_Red Birds_:

And we the little lily bells no loving heart forgets.

_Granny_. You see, dear Flora, how we all love you.

_Flora_. Thanks.

For the violets and the roses,
The laurel bright and rare,