The first robin had come, so had the first bluebird and the first hand-organ man; caterpillars were beginning to crawl along the sunny side of the fence rails and everybody was housecleaning, so it was quite certain that spring was here.

With it there came to the three little Ashley sisters three packets of seeds.

A lady friend of their mother had sent them. Every one of them had printed on it, "A Surprise Collection."

When the little, light-brown envelopes were opened, they were found to contain several varieties of seeds. Some were like little, round, brown pills—those were "sweet-peas," mamma said. Others were very small indeed, like grains of powder, and some were like tiny, grayish-green sticks—somebody said those were verbena seeds; and, well, dear me, there were all kinds and shapes and sizes and grays and browns.

Three neat, round beds were spaded up on the lawn, and Amy, Enid and Ruth raked them over, smoothed and patted the rich soil, and then planted their seeds.

Of course, you know what happened next. There had to be waiting, watching, weeding and watering. Most of the seeds sprouted and grew, and soon the dark brown earth was covered by green shoots and trailing sprays.

By and by, buds began to appear and tiny bits of color to show, and then how happy the little girls were!

All but Enid. She was pleased, but also a little disappointed.

Now, it so happened, that Ruth's "Surprise Collection" turned out to be pansies, asters, phlox and ragged sailors—all posies of bright pink, purple and crimson in various shades. Amy's garden plot was gay with marigolds, four-o'clocks, larkspurs, and bachelor's-buttons—all orange and yellow, blue and purple.

But Enid's flowers were nearly all white, and it was truly a surprise, though not a very agreeable one. She had white verbenas, sweet alyssum, candytuft, daisies and gillyflowers.

Consequently, her flower bed did not attract as much attention from the passers-by as did the gay ones of her sisters.

"Anyhow, almost all my posies are sweet-smelling," the little girl said, trying her best to be contented. For, after all, to own flowers, every one of which was fragrant, was a comfort.

Then, there came another comfort—a real "surprise" comfort. Late one evening, after the family had been away all day, attending the Sunday-school picnic, and drove home in the moonlight, what do you suppose they saw as they turned in at the gateway? Why, there on the lawn, was a great circle of white, gleaming like frosted silver.

"Wonder if a sheet has blown off the clothesline," said grandma.

"Oh, it isn't a sheet—it's my flower bed! It's my dear, darling white posies!"

And, sure enough, the white flowers could be seen in the dark, when all the gay reds and yellows and blues and purples were dim and dull.

Enid felt very happy.

"I like 'surprise collections' you can see at night," she said.

TRUE LOVE

"How much I love, you, mother dear," A little prattler said; "I love you in the morning bright, And when I go to bed. "I love you when I'm near to you, And when I'm far away; I love you when I am at work, And when I am at play." And then she shyly, sweetly raised Her loving eyes of blue— "I love you when you love me best, And when you scold me, too." The mother kissed her darling child, And stooped a tear to hide: "My precious one, I love you most When I am forced to chide. "I could not let my darling child In sin and folly go; And this is why I sometimes chide— Because I love you so."

—Sel.

A RUNAWAY UMBRELLA

There was a big umbrella with a pretty twisted handle, that belonged to father, and he carried it down town on rainy days. There was a little brown-eyed girl, who was four years old her last birthday; that was Marjorie.

There was a mischievous south wind that would be quiet for a long time and then come with a quick gust and blow, oh, ever so hard and play all sorts of pranks on people.

Then, there was a lady who sat on a porch not very far from Marjorie's house. These four together made a story, and that's what I am going to tell you about.

It was a beautiful sunny day and Marjorie was going out in the front yard to play. As she went through the hall there, by the hall tree, stood the big umbrella.

"Wouldn't it be fun to take the umbrella and play rainy day?" she thought. So she reached and picked it up.

Through the door, across the porch and down onto the sidewalk she ran. She worked a long while before she could get the umbrella to stay up.

"Now, I am a big lady with a long dress and I am going over to the store," she said to herself as she gathered her little short skirt up with one hand, and held the umbrella up straight and fine with the other. Walking carefully, "because it is so muddy," she said, as down the street she started. Pretty soon a gust of the mischievous south wind came along and lifted the umbrella right out of Marjorie's little fat hand and took it out into the middle of the street and set it down.

Forgetting the rainy day, the long skirt, and the mud, off the curbing she jumped, and ran for the umbrella. She had almost grasped it again, when along came another gust of wind, and down the street bumity-bump went the big, open umbrella. Marjorie started to run after it, but over and over it went so much faster than a little girl could run, that it was soon far out of her reach.

Then she began to cry.

"Catch it, oh, catch it!" she screamed, as she ran.

The lady I told you about heard the cry, and looking up from her reading, saw the big umbrella go rolling past, followed by the frightened, crying little girl. Down the steps she ran and out into the street after the umbrella. "Bump," it went up against a telephone pole and the wind left it there. In a moment the lady had it in her hand.

"I want it down, oh, please, I want it down." sobbed Marjorie all out of breath.

"Now, it's all right. Don't cry any more," said the lady as she put it down and handed it to Marjorie, kissing her little tear-stained face.

Marjorie clung to it with both hands and started for home. She wanted to put the umbrella back by the hall tree, and tell mother all about the runaway.—Written for Dew Drops by Flora Louise Whitmore.

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Dew Drops, Vol. 37, No. 15, April 12, 1914

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ENID'S FLOWERS

TRUE LOVE

A RUNAWAY UMBRELLA

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