But the daisies had spoken truly; the gentle little flower was dead, and her blue-eyed sisters were weeping bitterly over her faded leaves. 

 “Now I have no friends,” sighed poor Thistledown, “and must die of cold. Ah, if I had but minded Lily-Bell, I might now be dreaming beneath some flower’s leaves.” 

 “Others can forgive and love, beside Lily-Bell and Violet,” said a faint, sweet voice; “I have no little bud to shelter now, and you can enter here.” It was the rose mother that spoke, and Thistle saw how pale the bright leaves had grown, and how the slender stem was bowed. Grieved, ashamed, and wondering at the flower’s forgiving words, he laid his weary head on the bosom he had filled with sorrow, and the fragrant leaves were folded carefully about him. 

 But he could find no rest. The rose strove to comfort him; but when she fancied he was sleeping, thoughts of her lost bud stole in, and the little heart beat so sadly where he lay, that no sleep came; while the bitter tears he had caused to flow fell more coldly on him than the rain without. Then he heard the other flowers whispering among themselves of his cruelty, and the sorrow he had brought to their happy home; and many wondered how the rose, who had suffered most, could yet forgive and shelter him. 

 “Never could I forgive one who had robbed me of my children. I could bow my head and die, but could give no happiness to one who had taken all my own,” said Hyacinth, bending fondly over the little ones that blossomed by her side. 

 “Dear Violet is not the only one who will leave us,” sobbed little Mignonette; “the rose mother will fade like her little bud, and we shall lose our gentlest teacher. Her last lesson is forgiveness; let us show our love for her, and the gentle stranger Lily-Bell, by allowing no unkind word or thought of him who has brought us all this grief.” 

 The angry words were hushed, and through the long night nothing was heard but the dropping of the rain, and the low sighs of the rose. 

 Soon the sunlight came again, and with it Lily-Bell seeking for Thistledown; but he was ashamed, and stole away. 

 When the flowers told their sorrow to kind-hearted Lily-Bell, she wept bitterly at the pain her friend had given, and with loving words strove to comfort those whom he had grieved; with gentle care she healed the wounded birds, and watched above the flowers he had harmed, bringing each day dew and 

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