ot,"
said Mrs. Stoutenburgh, stretching forth her hand, sibyl-like, towards
the now prostrate doctor,--"whereat the mignonette rejoices."

"All the flowers rejoice," said the mignonette, "and the cricket jumps
out of the way."

"Into the sunshine"--said Mr. Stoutenburgh, laughing;--"but the moth
feels doubtful."

"The moth"--said Mr. Somers--"he--don't like the sunshine so well as
the rain. He--ha--he wishes he was a midge there, to get under shelter."

"A midge _here_ he can't be," said Mr. Linden, dropping his voice for
Faith's benefit,--"'Two suns hold not their courses in one
sphere!'"--Then aloud--"Invisibility is a great thing--when you can
make up your mind to it, but 'Althaea with the purple eye' looks on
life differently."

"I look on it soberly," said Miss Essie.--

"'Flutter he, flutter he, high as he will,
A butterfly is but a butterfly still.
And 'tis better for us to remain where we are,
In the lowly valley of duty and care,
Than lonely to soar to the heights above,
Where there's nothing to do and nothing to love.'"

"I'll flutter no more! after that"--said the doctor. "I'll creep into
the heart of the white lily and beg it to shelter me."

"It won't hide you from the sun nor from the rain," said the white
lily,--"and I'd as lieve shelter a spider besides."

Faith forgot again that she must welcome the sun; but she was not the
only one who had incurred forfeits. Nor the last one who should. For
while that interesting member of society who called himself spider,
made his reply, Mr. Linden's attention naturally wandered--or came
back; and the lively dialogue which then ensued between Messrs. Snail,
Wasp, Beetle, etc. failed to arouse him to the duties of a midge or the
fear of the gardener: he forgot everything else in the pleasure of
making Mignonette laugh. Standing half before her at last, in some
animated bit of talk, more than one sunbeam and watering-pot had come
and gone, unnoticed by both midge and mignonette,--a fact of which some
other people took note, and smilingly marked down the forfeits.

"Mr. Linden"--said the voice of Miss Essie at his elbow--"do you know
what the doctor is saying?--'The mother of mischief is no bigger than a
midge's wing!' You'd better speak to him."

Mr. Linden turned, with a laughing, recollective glance--

"Who speaks slightingly of the midge?--let him have a dose of syrup of
poppies!"

"I guess you can find balm," said Mrs. Stoutenb