So, dear children, let us try to make friends with her fairies, Love and Contentment, and let us remember that whenever the thought of her urges us to be cheerful, contented, and loving, we, too, shall plant a flower on Violet's grave.
VIOLET'S STORY.
CHAPTER I.
It was a snowy night, and the children, as we gathered around the fire, began to ask for stories. I told them a queer dream of my own, and then they insisted that Violet should give one of her fairy tales.
While she was puzzling her brain for a new one, my little sister Mabel, who had climbed upon the sofa and was nestling close to her, asked,—
"What makes you love violets so much? Here even in winter time you have some in your bosom. Aren't you sweeter than these little homely things?"
"Narcissa," she answered, "has told a dream, and now I will tell one. It's a kind of fairy story besides, and partly true. You must not ask any questions about the little girl, or make any guesses. Her name happened to be just like yours, Mabel."
"Little girl! I thought 'twas a dream," said Mabel.