Scarcely conscious of what she was doing, Agnes moved quietly up the stairs, until she was near enough to the door of the study-room to hear distinctly.
“There was once a little flower-bud.” Miss Harper began her story in a low voice, and Agnes leaned forward, listening earnestly. “It was very small, and two green leaves gathered their arms closely around it, for there was a hidden treasure of sweetness in the heart of that bud. One day the cold, angry wind came along, and wanted the bud to open her beautiful pink leaves and give out from her heart the sweet perfumes that were hidden there. He blew harshly upon her, throwing her little head first on one side and then upon the other, and called angrily for her to open, that her sweetness might breathe in his ugly face. But the two green leaves only hugged their arms closer around the bud. Then he dashed her head upon the ground, and tried to trample the life out of her; for he did not love her at all: he only loved himself. The light stem that held the bud did not break, but only bent down, and, when the cruel wind was gone, raised up again from the ground and lifted the bud into the warm sunshine that was coming abroad.
“It was very different when the gentle, loving sunshine came and asked the two green leaves to unclasp themselves and let the bud grow into a flower, that the sweetness might come out of its little heart. Greener and softer grew these leaves, and they seemed almost to smile with pleasure, as they gently fell back from the swelling bud, that opened and opened in the face of the sunshine until it became a beautiful flower, the perfume in its heart filling all the air around.”
Miss Harper paused.
“What a sweet story!” said Madeline, looking still into the face of her governess, and with wondering eyes, for she felt, child as she was, that the story had a signification.
“Love and kindness are always better than anger,” said Miss Harper, answering the child’s eyes.
“The sunshine was love?” said Madeline.
“Yes; and the cold wind was anger.”
“And what was the flower?” asked the child.
“You and George are human flowers, dear;” and, from the swelling love in her pure spirit, Miss Harper pressed a kiss on the lips of both the children.