The two women talked of the dreary world until they went to rest. What was their surprise, in the morning, to find their neighbors rejoicing over their mysterious gifts.
"Why had we none?" they said again and again. "The poor never have half as much given them as the wealthy," they cried, and went back to their gloom and despair.
"Did you find a wreath on your doorstep this morning?" inquired a bright, hopeful woman at noon, who had brought them a part of her dinner.
"No, indeed!" they answered. "Did you find one on yours?"
"The handsomest wreath I ever saw. Who ever could have made one so lovely? But"—she stopped suddenly, on seeing their sad faces. "You shall have part of mine: I will cut it in two."
"Never!" said the eldest quickly. "There is some reason why we were omitted; and, until we can know the cause, you must keep your wreath unbroken."
It was very noble of her to come out of herself and refuse to accept what she instinctively felt did not belong to her.
A week passed away. A child in the village had had strange dreams concerning the gifts, which, in substance, was that a beautiful angel had come from the stars above, and brought flowers to every house in which a light was seen.
"We did not have any light that night,—don't you remember?" remarked the eldest of the women, as their neighbor told them of the strange dream.
"There must be something in it," answered the little bright-eyed woman. "For all the dwellings had flowers which were lighted."