They had the lesson and the treatment this afternoon, and then their plays, and when lunch time came the appetites of the pair did not seem to have been injured by their confinement to the house.

When the time came for Hazel to go it had ceased raining, and Miss Fletcher went with her to the gate.

“Oh, oh, aunt Hazel—­see the quest flower!” exclaimed the child.

True, a lily, larger, fairer than all the rest, reared itself in stately purity in the centre of the bed.

Miss Fletcher turned and looked at it with startled eyes and pressed her hand to her heart.  “Why can’t the thing give a body time to make up her mind!” she murmured.

“Oh, to-morrow, to-morrow, aunt Hazel, the sun will come out, and I know just how that lily will look.  It will be fit to take to the King!”

Miss Fletcher passed her arm around the child’s shoulders.  “I want you to stay to supper with us to-morrow night, dear.  Ask your uncle if you may.”

“Thank you, I’d love to,” returned the child, and was skipping off.

“Wait a minute.”  Miss Fletcher stooped and with her scissors cut a moss rose so full of sweetness that as she handed it to her guest, Hazel hugged her.

The following day was fresh and bright.  Flossie’s best pink gown and hair ribbons made her look like a rose, herself, to Hazel, as the little girl, very fine in a white frock and ribbons, came skipping up the street.  Miss Fletcher stood watching them as her niece ran toward the wheeled chair.  The lustre in Flossie’s eyes made her heart glad; but the visitor stopped short in the midst of the garden and clasped her hands.

“Oh, aunt Hazel!” she cried, “the quest flower!”

Miss Fletcher nodded and slowly drew near.  The stately lily looked like a queen among her subjects.

“Yes, it is to-day,” she said softly, “to-day.”

She could not settle to her sewing, but, leaving the children together for their work and play, walked up and down the garden paths.  Later she went into the house and upstairs and put on her best black silk dress.  An unusual color came into her cheeks while she dressed.  “The bulb was humility,” she murmured over and over, under her breath.

The afternoon was drawing to a close when Miss Fletcher at last moved out of doors and to the elm-tree.  “I didn’t bring you any lunch to-day,” she said to the children, “because I want you to be hungry for a good supper.”

“Can we have the dishes just the same?” asked Flossie.

“The owner is going to have them to-night,” replied Miss Fletcher, and both the little girls regarded her flushed face with eager curiosity.

“Why, have you asked her?” they cried together.

“Yes.”

“Does she know she’s going to have the tea-set?”

“No.”

“Oh, what fun!” exclaimed Flossie.  “I didn’t know she was in town.”

“Yes, she is in town.”  Miss Fletcher turned to Hazel and put her hand on the child’s shoulder.  “We must do everything we can to celebrate taking the flower to the King.”