“It is a long, long time since that incident occurred; but the flowers which there sprung up in our bosom, are fresh and beautiful still. They have neither faded nor withered—they cannot, for they are unfading flowers. We never looked upon the man who gave them to us that our heart did not grow warm toward him. We know not now whether he be living or dead. Twenty years ago we lost sight of him; but, if still among the dwellers of earth, and in need of a friend, we would divide with him our last morsel.” An old man, with hair whitened by the snows of many winters, was sitting in a room that was poorly supplied with furniture, his head bowed down, and gaze cast dreamily upon the floor. A pale young girl came in while he thus sat musing. Lifting his eyes to her face, he said, while he tried to look cheerful, “Ellen, dear, you must not go out to-day.” “I feel a great deal better, grandpa,” returned the girl, forcing a smile. “I am able to go to work again.” “No, child, you are not,” said the old man, firmly; “and you must not think of such a thing.” “Don’t be so positive, grandpa.” And as she uttered this little sentence, in a half playful voice, she laid her hand among the thin gray locks on the old man’s head, and smoothed them caressingly. “You know that I must not be idle.” “Wait, child, until your strength returns.” “Our wants will not wait, grandpa.” As the girl said this, her face became sober. The old man’s eyes again fell to the floor, and a heavy sigh came forth from his bosom. “I will be very careful and not overwork myself again,” resumed Ellen, after a pause. “You must not go to-day,” said the old man, arousing himself. “It is murder. Wait at least until to-morrow. You will be stronger then.” “If I do not go back to-day, I may lose my place. You know I have been home for three days.” “You were sick.” “Work will not wait. The last time I was kept away by sickness, a customer was disappointed; and there was a good deal of trouble about it.” Another sigh came heavily from the old man’s heart. “I will go,” said the girl. “Perhaps they will let me off for a day longer. If so, I will come back. But I must not lose the place.” No further resistance was made by the old man. In a little while he was alone. Hours went by, but Ellen did not return. She had gone to work. Her employer would not let her go away, feeble as she was, without a forfeiture of her place. About mid-day, finding that Ellen did not come back, the old man, after taking some food, went out. The pressure of seventy years was upon him, and his steps were slow and carefully taken. “I must get something to do. I can work still,” he muttered to himself, as he moved along the streets. “The dear child is killing herself, and all for me.”