“For ever and ever?” said Ruth, and she trembled; “please, ma’am, I should like to go now, if it’s all the same to you?”

“No! but take this flower,” and, as she spoke, she stooped down, and pulled up a forget-me-not by the roots, and breathed upon it, and it blossomed all over; “take this root,” said she, “and plant it somewhere, and tend it well, and at any time after three days, if you get tired of being here, all you have to do will be just to pull it up out of the earth, and wish yourself at home, and you will find yourself there in a moment, in your own little bed.”

“Goody gracious! you don’t say so!”

“But I do say so.”

“I declare, I’ve a good mind to try!”

“What, pull it up before you have planted it?  No, no, my dear.  It must be left out threescore and twelve hours, and be watered with the dews and the starlight of the South Sea, where you are now, thousands and thousands of miles from your own dear country; but there is one thing I would have you know before you plant the flower.”

“If you please, ma’am,” said little Ruth.

“It is given to you, my dear, to help you correct your faults; you mean to do right, and you try pretty hard, but you are so forgetful, you say.”

“Yes, ma’am,”

“Well, now, but just so long as you tend this plant with care, and water it every day at the same hour,—­every day, mind you, and at the same hour,—­you will be growing better.”

Ruth was overjoyed.

“But,” continued the fairy, “if you neglect it for a single day, it will begin to droop and wither, the leaves will change, and some of the blossoms will drop off, and your mother will begin to feel unhappy and low-spirited.”

“O yes; but I never shall, ma’am,—­never, never!”

“Don’t be too sure; and if you neglect it for two whole days running, all the flowers will drop off but one, and your mother will take to her bed, and nobody but you will know what ails her.”

Poor Ruth began to tremble, and the tears came in her eyes.

“But,” continued the fairy,—­“but if you should neglect it for three days running, my poor child,—­but for three days running,—­the last flower will drop off, and your mother will die of a broken heart.”

“O mercy, mercy!” cried poor little Ruth.  “O, take it! take it!  I wouldn’t have it for the world!” And she flung it down upon the loose earth, and shook her little fingers, just as if something had stung her.

“It is too late now.  See, my dear, it has already taken root, and now there is no help for it.  Remember! your mother’s health, happiness, and life depend upon that flower.  Watch it well!  And now, daughter of earth,” and, as she spoke, she stooped, and pulled up a whole handful of violets, dripping with summer rain,—­and repeating the words, “Daughter of earth, away!  Rosebud, appear!” shook the moisture all over her; and instantly the dear child found herself afloat in the air, with pinions of purple gauze, bedropped with gold, with millions of little fairies all about her, swarming like butterflies and blossoms after a pleasant rain, and welcoming their sister Rosebud to Fairy-land.