each time the baby nestled uneasily; in the armchair near, her father had fallen asleep, his fine pathetic face faintly touched by the feeble light. His thin hand lay on the arm of the chair. How thin it was, how sad his sleeping face! Not one of them had quite all they needed to eat on that day; and what for to-morrow? Then a feeling of shame at her own cowardice came to Peggy's rescue. What were ten thousand indifferent eyes, what if everybody should laugh at her red hair and mean apparel; if they only would buy her flowers, she would not care- no, she would not! She would be deaf, dumb, and blind to everything except her purpose. She left the window and came and stood beside her mother's chair. "Mother, dear, let me finish it for you," she said, trying to take the work out of her hands. But her mother said, "No, Peggy darling, don't mind, I've nearly finished. You'd better go to bed soon, for you 'll have to be up very early, you know," and she put her arm around her girl's slender figure and drew her close and laid her tired head against the brave little heart that was beating fast with its struggles and hopes and fears. Her father opened his eyes upon the two,— all unconscious of his gaze. No one knew better than he what was passing in his daughter's mind. But he had no word with which to comfort her; he could only cling to her as her mother was doing, and bless her with all his soul, as she came to give him a good-night kiss.

She climbed to her little nest under the eaves and leaned out to look once more at the summer night. The calm sea mirrored every twinkling star. Here and there a light gleamed from some fishingschooner anchored and rocking almost imperceptibly on the softly heaving tide. Afar on its lonely promontory stood the dark mass of the great hotel, ablaze and quivering with electric lights, like a living jewel of many facets. So great a hope, so great a fear trembled for her in its glitter and gleam! She was glad she could not hear the band that she knew must be playing for the gay, whirling dancers in the great hall. "I wonder if they all are wearing flowers from the city," she thought, "roses and delicate things so different from mine. I wonder if they will want mine when they see them! Perhaps, perhaps!" she sighed. Little Willy was asleep in the low cot; he half woke as she laid her head on the pillow, and possessed himself of her arm, hugging it again with both his. "Dear Peggy,” he said, half asleep, “dear, dear, dear!"

The morning broke calm and clear. It was not four o'clock when she was stealing out in the freshening dawn to her garden-plot. The sky was one great flush of pink, and at the horizon crimson

and gold where the sun approached from the other side, and all the sea reflected the sky.

"Oh!" thought she, "the whole world looks like a rose!" as she pushed the gate and entered the path. How the birds were singing! "O songsparrow!" she cried to the little brown creature that sat on the wall and poured forth such a strain of joy that it seemed to fill the air with cheer," are you really so glad as that? I'd like to change places with you!"

She cut the flowers with swift and dexterous hands and filled her basket heaping full. And now the sun had risen in still magnificence, and touched with golden finger the sails of small fishing-craft, creeping out to the day's work, and the snowy wings of lazy gulls afloat overhead in the perfect blue, and made the bright hair of our Peggy as glorious as the marigolds she was tying into bunches as she sat on the little step with her basket and a spool of thread. Some dim artistic sense led her to mass each color separately; all the scarlet sweet peas she put together. So with the pink and the purple and the white; so with the red poppies, to which she added a few delicate grasses, and with the mignonette; but with the pale-yellow summer chrysanthemums she put a few orange marigolds, and made of their radiant disks a splendid conflagration of color. There were small and large bunches to be tied, and button-hole bouquets; and when all were done she put them into a wooden tub with a few inches of water, and left it in the cool dark of the cellar till she should be ready to take them away. But the slender breakfast was to be helped on and the family started for the day, before she could leave them. The baby, usually so good and quiet, would fret; it seemed to be out of sorts. "Poor little girl," Peggy said to herself, “you are hungry; that is the trouble, I know, for you are the best little sister in the world." The grandmother was full of aches and pains this morning, but she said, "I'll keep the baby, Peggy dear; you go and get ready before the sun grows so hot that you 'll suffer going across the sands. Here's something to wear on your head, child," and she drew out of her pocket a nicely folded blue handkerchieï; "it's better than nothing," she said, "though it's faded and old enough.” Poor Peggy! She had no hat at all; the handkerchief was, as grandmother said, better than nothing,- that was all. “Go, now, and walk very slowly, dear," her mother said. She brought a long and broad shallow basket, into which they put the flowers, and over all laid lightly some newspapers, which were tucked carefully in around the edges, to save her treasures from wind and sun. She had but her one gown to wear, a dull, dark-blue cotton print, made in the

simplest fashion, with neither flower nor furbelow. She had no time for such, nor means if she had had time. Her thick, bright locks were plaited into one long, rich braid with the ends left loose, for she had not even a bit of ribbon wherewith to tie it. She knotted the blue kerchief under her chin, kissed them all as if she were bidding the family farewell for a month, and set off with her basket on her arm. Willy cried to go too, but it was too far for his little feet to trudge, or she would gladly have taken him. They watched her from the door till her figure lessened to a mere speck on the sand. How would she return to them, with failure or success? They hardly dared to think!

Meantime, the little maid kept courageously on her way. The sun was high and hot, but a breath of coolness came from the waves which spilled themselves in long breakers of lazy brine along the edge of the sand. But she hardly noticed the heat, or the cool whispering water; her eyes were fixed on the great building before her, which began to grow more distinct every moment. Windows, doors, chimneys, roofs, gables, columns, gradually disentangled themselves; and she saw knots of people here and there, and a crowd scattered on the long piazza; and before the house on the level green, youths and maidens, gayly clad, were playing tennis, careless of the sun. Like a soldier marching to battle, Peggy walked past these, straight up to one of the three broad flights of steps, the one at the left-hand entrance. She dared not look about her, for she felt many eyes upon her as she set her basket down on the lower step and took off the protecting newspapers, folding them for future use. She slipped the grandmother's old kerchief off her head, she was so warm, and began to climb the stairs slowly and with sinking heart. Several gentlemen were standing near, and as she passed them, not daring to lift her eyes, she heard them talking; their smooth and polished tones were like a strange language in her ears. "Ah," said one, "what have we here? A flower-girl, upon my word! Come, 'Willard, here's a subject for you; look at her! she might pose for the goddess Freya." Peggy felt her cheeks grow crimson; though she heard, she did not understand what he said, but moved away as quickly as she dared.

on earth did she come from, I wonder?" and they strolled slowly up the walk, watching her.

Peggy was safely out of car-shot, and would not have comprehended what was said even had she heard it, but she had an uncomfortable sense of being the subject of comment, and her embarrassment increased every moment. Poor child, she had no "pull-back," no ridiculous high heels in the middle of the soles of her shoes, no fashionable trammels of any kind, and walked as God meant she should, quite unconscious of resembling a goddess of any kind whatever! Her only thought was, "Will some one come and buy my flowers?" but she dared not ask. She stood still at last, with down-dropped eyes and blushing cheeks, feeling all the dreaded eyes upon her and wishing she were a plover, to fly home by the breakers' edge. Suddenly a child's voice at her side said, “Oh, look at the pretty flowers, Mamma! I want some; please buy some for me!" and a lovely lady in black spoke to her gently. Peggy started like a frightened sandpiper, though the lady only said, “How lovely your flowers are, my dear! May I have some? What is the price of this bunch of sweet peas?" and she drew a mass of fragrant scarlet flowers out of the basket, while the little girl who had begged stretched out both hands for them. "Wait a minute, Minnie. How much are they?" she asked of Peggy. "Twenty-five cents," Peggy ventured in answer, and the lady drew the coin from her purse and laid it in Peggy's happy palm. The contact seemed to give her new life, and her eyes grew moist with joy. She sent a swift glance out over the hot coast-line to where she knew her poor little home lay, a mere speck in the melting distance, but oh, how dear it seemed! And her hope grew strong and her fears less, and she held the precious piece of silver tight, lest it should take wings and fly away from her. The child ran dancing off down the long vista of loitering people, holding up its brilliant nosegay, and others drew near, among them the gentleman she had first noticed. Though they did not rudely stare at her, Peggy felt they were attentively observing her, and her red hair and poor gown and clumsy shoes came into her mind with bitter sadness, as a whole bevy of gay young girls approached her, laughing and talking. How wonderful they were, with their hair so nicely arranged, and their lovely dresses in

"Magnificent!" returned the other. "But look at her movement, what fine simplicity and freedom; what a carriage of the head! Freya, did I say? Why, she is Freya and Minerva, combined! She has all the sweetness and freshness of the one and the noble dignity of the other. Where

dainty, with ruche and ruffle and coquetry of ribbon and lace! It quite took away poor Peggy's breath. "Don't be afraid, child; we shan't hurt you," said a rather too loud, but seemingly good-natured voice, which jarred on the little flower-girl's ear. She looked up into the face of a tall, black-eyed, blackhaired girl, extremely showy, with pink cheeks and

delicately applied, had touched lips and cheeks with a false and hateful brightness? She only realized that something dreadful was the matter with the young countenance, and that she would never care to look at it again.

therefore the greater portion of the world would follow it, however ugly or absurd.

But now the contents of Peggy's basket began to disappear with surprising rapidity, faster and faster, til more than half her nosegays were

6

Now Peggy had never been to school, as had these charming young women; her father had taught her all he knew; but she could read and write, and knew enough of the English tongue to be assured of the fact that by no possible hallucination of the human imagination could her flowers be called "cute." The divine fitness of things was outraged by the word. Yet all the young ladies agreed that they were "cute," especially the little button-hole bouquets; those were "perfectly cute." Peggy looked up suddenly and caught the eye of the gentleman whom she had first heard speak; there was a comical gleam in his expression, as if he appreciated her wonder and perplexity. At that moment a tall young man sauntered toward them, dressed in the height of fashion and with an air of languid vacuity quite distressing to behold. The pearl-powdered young lady slipped around behind Peggy, saying in a half whisper, "Oh, dear, girls! there he comes again! He's been buzzing me all the morning! Really, I must get rid of him; I can't endure it any longer!" Totally bewildered, Peggy thought, "Is the gentlemen a bumble-bee, that he has been 'buzzing'? Without knowing exactly why, her whole soul revolted at the offenses against the "pure well of English undefiled" which were whispered across her basket; and soon this brilliant young person seemed odious to her. But the fashionable damsel was enthusiastic over the yellow and flame-colored flowers which Peggy held, and at once bought four bunches, putting a whole dollar into Peggy's hand. She knew they would be becoming to her "style," she said, and loosening their stems as she stood in the center of the group of girls, she spread the blossoms apart a little, and proceeded to pin them on with some long pins she took from her belt, against her black dress, till from zone to shoulder she was a mass of flowers. "There,” she cried, at last, “Is n't that stunning!

Certainly it was sufficiently brilliant and striking, "but oh," thought Peggy, "how ugly! One might as well make a door-mat of flowers." She could not bear to look at her marigolds with their heads crushed together in a solid mass; it seemed to her a wrong to the flowers and a discredit to the person who wore them; but she had to see it universally done the whole summer, for it was the "fashion"; and that was enough. No matter what sin against taste it involved, it was the "style" and

thing had ever looked so beautiful to her as the coins of silver she held in her hand, which soon grew too small to hold them all! They meant bread for her hungry dear ones; they meant joy for that little home saddened by poverty. She cared no more what people said, what they thought; she was sure of success for to-day; she held already help for to-morrow in her delighted hands.

"May I have this pansy for my button-hole?" said a fine deep voice at her ear.

She started and turned and gave the speaker the last little bunch she had left; it was Mr. Willard. He put the flowers in their place and took from the basket two bunches of white sweet peas and slipped the money into her hand.

66

"Tell me," he said, very gently, who taught you to put the colors in masses like these? Why do you do it?"

"I don't know," she answered; "they are prettier so," and she shyly proceeded to re-arrange the nosegays she had left.

Why do you put grass with the poppies?" he asked. "Did any one tell you to do it?" "No," she said; "but dont you think they belong together?"

"Yes, they do," he said; "but who told you so?" "No one-they told me, themselves," she answered, smiling a little.

"Fortunate child!" he said; "they don't tell every one, though it's an open secret."

He was moving away, with his hands full of sweet peas, when he seemed to remember something, and came back.

"Will you come with me,” he said, “and bring your basket to a lady who is not strong enough to come so far down the piazza?"

Peggy followed silently, and in a sheltered corner, shaded carefully from the sun, she found one of the loveliest sights she had ever seen. A lady, sixty years old perhaps, was lying back in a reclining chair, and about her several people sat quietly chatting. The lady's face was as fair as lilies, with eyes clear, and undimmed by her sixty years. Her smile was sweeter than any smile Peggy had ever seen. Her hair was like silvered snow over her calm forehead, and she wore above this shining hair a little cap of lace as delicate as if woven of cobwebs and hoar-frost with a bit of white satin ribbon like a moon-beam folded on the top. "She is beautiful as my white sweet peas," thought

Peggy, as Mr. Willard put the flowers into her lovely hands; "they just suit her."

"I've brought you some posies, Mrs. Burton, as you see," said her friend; "and here is the little girl who knows all about them."

"Oh, how beautiful!" cried, Mrs. Burton, in a delightful, sympathetic voice; "a thousand thanks! And," turning to Peggy, "you brought them, my dear?""Come nearer and let me see what else you have. Why, these are wonderful! Look at them, my daughter," she said to a sweet young girl who sat close beside her. "Why, Nelly, did you ever see anything like them! What color, what Oriental splendor! Where did you get them? tell me, my child! I must have them all, every one; let me see, here are eight bouquets, five large and three smaller; twenty-five cents, did you say? Here it is; just two dollars. What is it these small bunches only ten? Oh, never mind, I 'm sure they 're worth quite as much as the large ones. There, Nelly dear, that 's for you, and this for you, and you, and you," she said, laughing delightfully, as she gave one to each person about her. "There, now, we all are happy, are n't we? And next, I wish to know all about these extraordinary flowers; sit down here, my dear, and tell me."

Peggy did as she was bid, though she longed to fly home, since her task was done for that day, but the lady had been so kind she could not refuse; indeed, no one could ever refuse that lady anything! When, by gentle questioning, she had won from Peggy all her story, she laid her hand on the little girl's bright hair with a beautiful gesture of affectionate protection; but she made no comment, she asked only, "Are you coming to-morrow, my dear, to bring some more flowers? Don't fail, for we all want them."

scarcely believe her ears when the lady said, "There, dear, it 's for you. Don't come out in the sun without it again!" and kissed her cheek. "Now, good-bye. Don't say a word. Run home." "Thank you, oh, thank you!" cried Peggy. Run home? She did not run, she flew ! She did not look behind her, she thought of nothing but the joy she was taking to those anxious hearts who were expecting her. As her swift steps covered the distance between her and that cottage of her love, she seemed to tread on air; she forgot she was hungry and hot and tired; she could not stop a moment to rest; while under the shade of the pretty hat her cheeks burned and eyes glistened with a joy too great to be told.

Meantime, the watchers in the cottage counted the moments of her absence; and when at last her slight figure became visible, yet a long, long way off, little Willy rushed forth to meet her. "Stop, Willy, wait for me," his father cried, moving slowly down the steps. "Take hold of my hand, Willy; we 'll go together." But she came so fast that the two slow walkers had gone only a short way before she caught up to them, quite breathless, and flung her arms round her father's neck, and cried, "O Father, I sold them all!" throwing her empty basket as far as she could, till it rolled over and over on the sand, while she hugged him and kissed him again and again. And what a story she had to tell when in a few minutes they were all together again in the humble little room, and she spread out all her precious earnings on the table before them. There were eight dollars in silver pieces-it was incredible! What rejoicing, what happiness!

"O Mother!" cried Peggy, suddenly growing quite white, “I'm so hungry! Is there anything

"My dear, my dear! Here is your bowl of porridge, the last oatmeal we have in the house. I saved it for you"; and she set it before the tired girl; for it was quite the middle of the afternoon, many hours since the scant breakfast. Well might she be faint with all she had gone through! "But, Mother dear, as soon as I rest a little, I'll go up to the village for what we need."

"No, indeed, my darling, I will go; you mind the baby and rest all you can. But where did you get the beautiful hat?" And Peggy told, and there were smiles and tears, and kisses, and congratulations afresh. Here's your kerchief all safe, Grandmother dear," she said, taking it carefully out of her pocket.

66

"O Peggy, you 're a blessing!" the old woman sighed; “I always said you were not born on Sunday for nothing. And you are going with your flowers again to the hotel, to-morrow?