d
with the red roses and the hyacinths and the violets and the daphne and
the geraniums, made a wonderful sweet place of the little greenhouse. I
lost myself in delight again; but this time the delight did not issue in
homesickness. The flowers had another message for me to-day. I did not
heed it at first, busy with examining and drinking in the fragrance and
the loveliness about me; but even as I looked and drank, the flowers
began to whisper to me. With their wealth of perfume, with all their
various, glorious beauty, one and another leaned towards me or bent over
me with the question--"Daisy, are you afraid?--Daisy, are you
afraid?--The good God who has made us so rich, do you think he will leave
you poor? He loves you, Daisy. You needn't be a bit afraid but that HE is
enough, even if the world does not know you. He is rich enough for you as
well as for us."

I heard no voice, but surely I heard that whisper, plain enough. The
roses seemed to kiss me with it. The sweet azalea repeated it. The
hyacinths stood witnesses of it. The gay tulips and amaryllis held up
a banner before me on which it was blazoned.

I was so ashamed, and sorry, and glad, all at once, that I fell down
on my knees there, on the stone matted floor, and gave up the world
from my heart and for ever, and stretched out my hands for the wealth
that does not perish and the blessing that has no sorrow with it.

I was afraid to stay long on my knees; but I could hardly get my eyes
dry again, I was so glad and so sorry. I remember I was wiping a tear
or two away when Miss Cardigan came in. She greeted me kindly.

"There's a new rose out, did ye see it?" she said; "and this blue
hyacinth has opened its flowers. Isn't that bonny?"

"What is _bonny_, ma'am?" I asked.

Miss Cardigan laughed, the heartiest, sonsiest low laugh.

"There's a many things the Lord has made bonny," she said. "I thank
Him for it. Look at these violets--they're bonny; and this sweet red
rose." She broke it off the tree and gave it to me. "It's bad that it
shames your cheeks so. What's the matter wi' 'em, my bairn?"

Miss Cardigan's soft finger touched my cheek as she spoke; and the
voice and tone of the question were so gently, tenderly kind that it
was pleasant to answer. I said I had not been very strong.

"Nor just weel in your mind. No, no. Well, what did the flowers say to
you to-day, my dear? Eh? They told you something?"

"Oh yes!" I said.

"Did they tell you that