“Oh no, I haven’t!” she said quickly.  “I’m only about half way up.  See here:  I’ll tell how it is;” and, pointing to the different parts of the flowery wall, she added in her earnest way:  “I’ve watched these grow, and had many thoughts about them, as I sit sewing in the porch.  These variegated ones down low are my childish fancies; most of them gone to seed you see.  These lovely blue ones of all shades are my girlish dreams and hopes and plans.  Poor things! some are dead, some torn by the wind, and only a few pale ones left quite perfect.  Here you observe they grow sombre with a tinge of purple; that means pain and gloom, and there is where I was when I came here.  Now they turn from those sad colors to crimson, rose, and soft pink.  That’s the happiness and health I found here.  You and your dear mother planted them, and you see how strong and bright they are.”

She lifted up her hand, and gathering one of the great rosy cups offered it to him, as if it were brimful of the thanks she could not utter.  He comprehended, took it with a quiet “Thank you,” and stood looking at it for a moment, as if her little compliment pleased him very much.

“And these?” he said presently, pointing to the delicate violet bells that grew next the crimson ones.

The color deepened a shade in Christie’s cheek, but she went on with no other sign of shyness; for with David she always spoke out frankly, because she could not help it.

“Those mean love to me, not passion:  the deep red ones half hidden under the leaves mean that.  My violet flowers are the best and purest love we can know:  the sort that makes life beautiful and lasts for ever.  The white ones that come next are tinged with that soft color here and there, and they mean holiness.  I know there will be love in heaven; so, whether I ever find it here or not, I am sure I shall not miss it wholly.”

Then, as if glad to leave the theme that never can be touched without reverent emotion by a true woman, she added, looking up to where a few spotless blossoms shone like silver in the light: 

“Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations.  I cannot reach them:  but I can look up, and see their beauty; believe in them, and try to follow where they lead; remember that frost comes latest to those that bloom the highest; and keep my beautiful white flowers as long as I can.”

“The mush is ready; come to breakfast, children,” called Mrs. Sterling, as she crossed the hall with a teapot in her hand.

Christie’s face fell, then she exclaimed laughing:  “That’s always the way; I never take a poetic flight but in comes the mush, and spoils it all.”

“Not a bit; and that’s where women are mistaken.  Souls and bodies should go on together; and you will find that a hearty breakfast won’t spoil the little hymn the morning-glories sung;” and David set her a good example by eating two bowls of hasty-pudding and milk, with the lovely flower in his button-hole.