They glanced around the mass of blossoms filling the room, with a look of astonishment that so much beauty could be found in one place.
"Jess," whispered the oldest one to her sister, "'Pears like our 'n don't show up for much, beside all these. I wisht he knowed we walked a mile through the snow to fetch it, and how sorry we was."
Bethany heard the disappointed whisper. "Did you know him well?" she asked.
"I should rather say," answered the child. "He kep' us from starvin', all the time granny was down sick so long."
"An' once he took me and Jess ridin' with him, away out in the country, and he let us get out in a field and pick lots of yellow flowers, something like this, only littler. Didn't he, Jess?"
The other child nodded, saying, as she wiped her eyes with the corner of her sister's shawl, "Granny says we'll never have another friend like him while the world stands."
Deeply touched, Bethany held up the stemless chrysanthemum. "See," she said, "I'm going to put it in the best place of all, right here by his hand."
The door opened again to admit David Herschel. Before it closed the children had slipped bashfully away, still hand in hand.
Bethany told him of their errand. "Who could have brought more?" she said, touching the shining yellow flower; "for with this little drop of gold is the myrrh of a childish grief, and the frankincense of a loving remembrance."