“Balm that never ceases uttering sweets,
Goes decking the green earth with drapery.”
“I wonder what he will give me,” she said to herself, almost impatiently, yet fearing the offering might not be complimentary, for she well knew that Basil Bernard was always truthful. He held already in his hand a rose, blooming and fresh as morning, which he put upon her plate, and beside it a spray of yellow jessamine. Grace and elegance-while the beautiful Mundi rose spoke its own language-“you are merry.”
“Blushing rose!
Blown in the morning-thou shalt fade ere noon:
What boots a life that in such haste forsakes thee?
Thou 'rt wondrous frolic being to die so soon,
And passing proud a little color makes thee.”
And now came the most interesting point, to see what flowers he would place upon his sister's plate.
First, a handful of violets. “Faithfulness,” thought Dawn, “he is right thus far.” And then, as though his thoughts rose with the sentiment, he laid snowballs gently around them, while these words flashed upon her mind:
“Should sorrow o'er thy brow
Its darkened shadow fling,
And hopes that cheer thee now,
Die in their early spring;
Should pleasure, at its birth,
Fade like the hues of even,
Turn thou away from earth—
There's rest for thee in heaven.
“If ever life should seem
To thee a toilsome way,
And gladness cease to beam
Upon its clouded day;
If, like the weary dove,
O'er shoreless ocean driven,
Raise thou thine eyes above—
There's rest for thee in heaven.”
“And now we will each make a contribution to Basil” said his sister, smiling on him in a manner which told how dear he was to her.
She passed the basket to Dawn, who blushed and trembled at first, not with fear, but pleasure.
“The offering,” said his sister, “is to be an expression of the sentiments, which, in the opinion of each of us, are most in keeping with his character.”
Dawn reached forth, and drew, without hesitation, a cluster of verbenas, and one white water-lily.