The wind gave back my answer. I was sacrificed on the altar of friendship.
Then I felt my heartstrings slowly tugged at, and quivering and wounded and bleeding I was taken from my home, the home Louise had made for me, and placed in a basket with my cousins, the violets, to be carried to a new home, to meet new faces and perhaps make new friends.
Louise and this friend loved each other very dearly. Alas! for me, they loved pansies, too.
Perhaps it was an honor for Louise to have chosen me from among a hundred others, for to her a pansy was the dearest, the daintiest and most coquettish of all the flowers that bloom and die. But, though I felt the honor, I would a thousand times rather have lived to lift my petals to the breezes in my native land without glory and without pain; or better still, death on Louise’s breast, with her smiles and caresses, was preferable to honor and glory in a stranger’s land. I say this was preferable, but how foolish I am; we pansies have no preference. We of the flower family must take what you of the human family choose to give us.
This friend of Louise’s, I knew not her name and cared not to know, carried me very gently with the violets, protecting me from the sun and dust as we went; and when I awoke from my misery and my long, long journey, I found myself an exile, with my kindred, in the far south-land where the birds are always singing, and the flowers are ever blooming, and youth and beauty and old age go hand in hand.
It was a beautiful home to which I was brought. Here I was surrounded with all that a pansy’s heart should long for; but I was not happy. I was not content. Soon my face looked sad; my shining green leaves began to wither and droop, and the breath of the south wind became so hot I felt as though I could not live. Then the battle against death began. I longed to live that I might see Louise once more. Then I tried to live for her to whom she had sacrificed me. I made a brave struggle for life, but all in vain. It was the battle of the weak against the strong.
Since life has left me and I have become a spirit flower with my earthly body caged between the pages of a musty old book, which my spirit may enter at will, Louise’s friend often holds communion with me. It is then I ask, “Does she love me, or is it Louise, of whom she thinks, for whom she longs when she looks at me so lovingly and talks to me of the old days?”
Laura Cravens.
GARNET.
This stone exhibits many varieties of color and of composition. The color probably most often thought of in connection with it is dark red, but it would be a mistake to suppose this the only color which it may manifest. Green, red, rose and brown are other colors which garnet transparent enough to be used as gems exhibits, while among opaque garnets may be found black and many varieties of the shades above mentioned.