Miss Fletcher passed her arm around the child's shoulders. "I want you to stay to supper with us to-morrow night, dear. Ask your uncle if you may."
"Thank you, I'd love to," returned the child, and was skipping off.
"Wait a minute." Miss Fletcher stooped and with her scissors cut a moss rose so full of sweetness that as she handed it to her guest, Hazel hugged her.
The following day was fresh and bright. Flossie's best pink gown and hair ribbons made her look like a rose, herself, to Hazel, as the little girl, very fine in a white frock and ribbons, came skipping up the street. Miss Fletcher stood watching them as her niece ran toward the wheeled chair. The lustre in Flossie's eyes made her heart glad; but the visitor stopped short in the midst of the garden and clasped her hands.
"Oh, aunt Hazel!" she cried, "the quest flower!"
Miss Fletcher nodded and slowly drew near. The stately lily looked like a queen among her subjects.
"Yes, it is to-day," she said softly, "to-day."
She could not settle to her sewing, but, leaving the children together for their work and play, walked up and down the garden paths. Later she went into the house and upstairs and put on her best black silk dress. An unusual color came into her cheeks while she dressed. "The bulb was humility," she murmured over and over, under her breath.
The afternoon was drawing to a close when Miss Fletcher at last moved out of doors and to the elm-tree. "I didn't bring you any lunch to-day," she said to the children, "because I want you to be hungry for a good supper."
"Can we have the dishes just the same?" asked Flossie.