“Do-wn by the fe-ence.”
“Where is it now, Clematis?” Mrs. Snow spoke kindly, as she wiped the child’s face with her handkerchief.
“It’s in my pocket,” answered Clematis.
She drew out her closed hand, held it before the two ladies, and slowly opened it.
Within lay a limp, withered dandelion blossom.
CHAPTER VIII
A VISITOR
Mrs. Snow still tells the story of how Clematis stole the first dandelion of the springtime, out under the leaves.