In the late twilight that evening she stood alone in her garden, and the opening chalice of the perfect lily shone up at her through the dusk. "Only a couple of days, at most," she murmured, "not more than a couple of days—and humility was the root!"
When it rained the following morning, Flossie looked out the window rather disconsolately; but after dinner her face brightened, for she saw Hazel coming up the street under an umbrella. Tightly held in one arm were Ella and a bundle of books and doll's clothes. Miss Fletcher welcomed the guest gladly, and, after disposing of her umbrella, left the children together and took her sewing upstairs where she sat at work by a window, frowning and smiling by turns at her own thoughts.
Occasionally she looked down furtively at her garden, where in plain view the quest flower drank in the warm rain and opened—opened!
By this time Flossie and Hazel were great friends, and the expression of the former's face had changed even in three days, until one would forget to call her an afflicted child.
They had the lesson and the treatment this afternoon, and then their plays, and when lunch time came the appetites of the pair did not seem to have been injured by their confinement to the house.
When the time came for Hazel to go it had ceased raining, and Miss Fletcher went with her to the gate.
"Oh, oh, aunt Hazel—see the quest flower!" exclaimed the child.
True, a lily, larger, fairer than all the rest, reared itself in stately purity in the centre of the bed.
Miss Fletcher turned and looked at it with startled eyes and pressed her hand to her heart. "Why can't the thing give a body time to make up her mind!" she murmured.
"Oh, to-morrow, to-morrow, aunt Hazel, the sun will come out, and I know just how that lily will look. It will be fit to take to the King!"