The flower which had been in blossom when she died, now hung black and withered on its feeble stem, kept there only by the fringed paper which she had put about it with such touching care. The second bud had half opened into another scragly, stunted flower, about which not even the most loving eyes could see the slightest beauty, and, in spite of the care which Maggie and Bessie had given them, the leaves of both plants were wilted and drooping. But there was more than one heart at that table for which those feeble, sickly plants had a value far beyond that of the richest and rarest exotic.
Beside the marigolds stood a bird-cage, and in it, hopping about, and with his little head perking from side to side, as he watched the scene so curious and new to him, was a beautiful canary-bird. He was not singing now, for he did not know what to make of it all, and was not quite sure whether he were pleased or no; but, as the children stood looking from him to the marigolds in blank amazement, he gave a little inquiring "cheep, cheep!" as a first move to a better acquaintance.
"Oh, the darling birdie!" cried Bessie; "who is he for?"
But Maggie exclaimed with a trembling lip,—
"Fred, Fred! it wasn't fair. You ought not to make fun of poor Dolly's marigolds, and to hurt our feelings that way."
"I did not do a thing," said Fred, "and knew no more about it than yourself."
"Nor I," said Harry: "most likely it was papa or some grown-up person; and certainly no one has meant to make fun of you. Don't you see the card on the cage, and what is written on it?"
Maggie looked at the card, as her brother moved the cage nearer to her.
"'For our Maggie and Bessie—the dear'—oh! what is it Harry? read it to me quick."