For some of them held the flowers in both hands; and some of them laid them on the pillows and some were smelling them and some were only looking; and one blossom was caught into the iron framework of a bed where the sun fell on it and the child was looking at it with wonder-filled eyes.... It was her own--her flower--that some one had sent--a crimson rose with soft dark color clear to the heart of it where the sun went in. It nodded down to her. Aunt Jane, looking at her, thought of the people who had sent the flowers to Herman Medfield. "I guess they didn't any of them think anything quite as nice as this would come of their flowers!" she said to the nurse who had brought the vases and jars for the flowers and was standing beside her at the table. The nurse glanced down the ward. "They like them, don't they? But it seems a pity, almost, not to have them in water. They fade so soon!" "Well, I don't know"--Aunt Jane surveyed the room slowly--"I guess they're doing about as much good now as they ever will. There's something about a flower--about holding it right in your hand--that does something to you. It isn't the same thing as having it in water." "I don't see why not." The nurse glanced again, a little puzzled, down the room. "Well, I don't know why _not_," said Aunt Jane. "Seems as if it would be the same.... But it isn't! When it's in water somehow you know it's safe--_your_ rose.... You know it's going to keep--just as long as it can; and you look at it--kind of on the outside. But when you have it in your hand--it's all there! Maybe you know it can't last very long and you just take it in all over----" The nurse laughed out. "Yes, I know that sounds foolish," Aunt Jane nodded. "But we don't any of us know just what happens to us." She was looking down the ward as if she saw something beyond the beds and the sun shining in on them. The nurse gathered up the bits of leaves and the stems and litter from the floor and table and threw them on the wheel-tray and pushed it from the room. The children's eyes watched it go and returned to their blossoms. Jimmie Sullivan had clumped over to Aunt Jane, carrying his carnation. His new leg worked better to-day. He reached up an arm and Aunt Jane bent her ear. She listened and shook her head. "No, I can't tell stories to-day. I'm going to hold Susie a little while, and then I've got my work to do. I can't be bothering with you children all the time!" She went over to the bed where the crimson rose was and held out her arms. The child climbed into them and laughed. She was a gay little thing--not four years old. To-morrow she would be sitting up and the next day she would go home.