"Only three more nights to be here," said Joyce, taking the letter in to Grandma. "I want to go home and see Mother and Daddy, but I wish I could stay on the farm, too."
"And only three more stories about bees," added Don. "We must remember them all, Joyce, so we can tell them to Mother."
"What do you want to do today, children?" asked Grandma.
"After our morning work is done," said Joyce, with her most grown-up air, "we must finish weeding the flower-bed."
"Grandma," called Don a little later, "come and see how nice it looks where we pulled the weeds yesterday."
Grandma stood a moment thoughtfully looking down at the half-weeded bed of flowers.
"Children," she said suddenly, "If you wanted a flower this morning, where would you pick it—in the part of the bed that is full of weeds, or in that patch over there that you have weeded so nicely?"
"I would pick my flower where there aren't any weeds," answered Don, wondering why she asked. "I would take that pretty big red one right over there."
"And so would I!" declared Joyce, pulling up a stubborn weed.
"But why wouldn't you take this one?" said Grandma, as she parted the weeds and showed another red beauty.