“George Washington came and chopped it down with his little hatchet,” said an eager person in front.

“The lame girl came to look at it,” sang out a small chap in the back row.

No, (the young girl answered, with an irrepressible smile), it was a cherry-tree that George Washington chopped, Lucy; and I told you, Horatio, that the poor lame girl could n’t walk a step.  But the sun began to shine,—­that is the first thing that happened.  Day after day the sun shone, because everything seems to help the people and the things that help themselves.  The rich earth gave everything it had to give for sap, and the warm air dried up the ugly moss that spoiled the beauty of its trunk.

Then the lilac-bush was glad again, and it could hardly grow fast enough, because it knew it would be behind time, at any rate; for of course it could n’t stand still, grumbling and doing nothing for weeks, and get its work done as soon as the other plants.  But it made sap all clay long, and the buds grew into tiny leaves, and the leaves into larger ones, and then it began to group its flower-buds among the branches.  By this time it was the week before Easter, and it fairly sat up nights to work.

Hester knew that it was going to be more beautiful than it ever was in its life before (that was because it had never tried so hard, though of course Hester could n’t know that), but she was only afraid that it would n’t bloom soon enough, it was so very late this spring.

But the very morning before Easter Sunday, Hester turned in her sleep and dreamed that a sweet, sweet fragrance was stealing in at her open window.  A few minutes later she ran across her room, and lo! every cluster of buds on the lilac-bush had opened into purple flowers, and they were waving in the morning sunshine as if to say, “We are ready, Hester!  We are ready, after all!”

And one spray was pinned in the teacher’s dress,—­it was shabby and black,—­and she was glad of the flower because it reminded her of home.

And one spray stood in a vase on Hester’s dining-table.  There was never very much dinner in Hester’s house, but they did not care that day, because the lilac was so beautiful.

One bunch lay on the table in the church, and one, the loveliest of all, stood in a cup of water on the lame girl’s window-sill; and when she went to bed that night she moved it to the table beside her head, and put her thin hand out to touch it in the dark, and went to sleep smiling.

And each of the lilac flowers was glad that the bush had bloomed.

* * * * *

The children drew a deep breath.  They smoothed their flower-sprays gently, and one pale boy held his up to his cheek as if it had been a living thing.

“Tell it again,” cried the tomboy.

“Is it true?” asked the boy in kilts.

“I think it is,” said the girl gently.  “Of course, Tommy, the flowers never tell us their secrets in words; but I have watched that lilac-bush all through the winter and spring, and these are the very blossoms you are holding to-day.  It seems true, doesn’t it?”