"Father," said I by the way, "there are no fairies now how then can my domino box be changed into a geranium in a blue-and-white flower-pot?"
"My dear," said my father, leaning his hand on my shoulder, "everybody who is in earnest to be good, carries two fairies about with him—one here," and he touched my forehead, "and one there," and he touched my heart.
"I don't understand, father."
"I can wait until you do, my son."
My father stopped at a nursery-gardener's, and after looking over the flowers, paused before a large geranium. "Ah, this is finer than that which your mother was so fond of. What is the price of this, sir?"
"Only seven and six pence," said the gardener. My father buttoned up his pocket.
"I can't afford it to-day," said he gently, and we walked out.
III
On entering the town we stopped again at a china warehouse. "Have you a flower-pot like that I bought some months ago? Ah, here is one, marked three and six pence. Yes, that is the price. Well, when mother's birthday comes again, we must buy her another. That is some months to wait. And we can wait, my boy. For truth, that blooms all the year round, is better than a poor geranium; and a word that is never broken is better than a piece of delft."