“You haven’t said his flowers was beautiful,” volunteered Ruthie.
“His flowers?” echoed Miss Lavinia; she was deeply puzzled.
Ruthie ran to the desk and gathered together the six blades and the “miggle feather.”
“They be from Tommy’s very own garden,” Ruthie further explained. “He waters they every night an’ mornin’, Tommy does, outside the kitchen window, and shoos off they cats, so’s they can really grow.”
Some of the older children laughed, but a glance from Miss Lavinia caused their laughter to be instantly suppressed.
Miss Lavinia left the desk and holding in her left hand the six blades and the flower of the grass she went to Tommy’s corner of the table. With her disengaged right arm she drew him to her, and memories of her own far-away childhood gave her understanding, just as Miss Margaret had hoped.
“Tommy,” she said, very gently; “Tommy, thank you very much for your present. It was kind of you to pick these for me from your very own garden, and they are very beautiful.”
“Beautiful!” that was the word Tommy wanted.
“To-day I should like to see them in water on my desk, and to-morrow I shall press them between blotting-paper and mount them on a card; you shall write your name on the card and hang it on the wall.”
While Miss Lavinia spoke Tommy’s tears dried, and when she ended the broad smile was there once more.