"How's that?" demanded her new friend, in fresh surprise. "Have you decided I don't deserve them?"
"Oh, you deserve them, of course," replied the child quickly; "but when you have such thoughts about God, it's a wonder His flowers can grow so beautifully in your yard."
Miss Fletcher felt a warmth come into her cheeks.
"Well," she returned rather sharply, "I should like to know what sort of teaching you've had. You're a big enough girl to know that it's a Christian's business to be resigned to the will of God. You don't happen to have seen many, sick folks, I guess—what is your name?"
"Hazel."
"Why, that's queer, so is mine; and it isn't a common one."
"Isn't that nice!" returned the child. "We're both named Hazel and we both love flowers so much."
"Yes; that's quite a coincidence. Now, why shouldn't flowers grow for me, I should like to know?"
"Why, you think God afflicted that little girl's back, and didn't let her walk. Why, Miss Fletcher," the child's voice grew more earnest, "He wouldn't do it any more than I'd kneel down and break the stem of that lovely quest flower and let it hang there and wither."
Miss Fletcher pushed up her spectacles and gazed down into the clear gray eyes.