that carried her untouched through all the contempt and sneers that she everywhere provoked, and kept her quiet self-sufficiency unruffled. Most happily for her, she felt all the blessing without an idea of the curse of mediocrity that attached to her in the presence of others. She was quite idyllic to-day, for Elsa in the midst of nature was a very different person, although scarcely less lovely, from Elsa in her study. She had encircled with leaves her large straw hat,--the wide brim of which kept flapping up and down as she tripped about,--and a nosegay of wild flowers was stuck in her bosom. She loved wild flowers far more than garden flowers. Everybody admired garden flowers,--she pitied the wild flowers, and would atone by her love to the poor neglected blossoms of the field. Her delicate sense perceived beauty in the humblest thing that grew. She did not need grace of form and vividness of colour to impress her with the wisdom of the Creator. Every dandelion, every blade of grass, was lovely in her eyes. How wondrous was its structure! How its modest withdrawal from superficial eyes accorded with her own retiring nature! And then it was the prerogative of a poetic temperament to see what was hidden to all the world beside. It was a severe blow, therefore, to her tender heart when the professor of botany asked, "But, Fräulein Elsa, why have you brought a bunch of hay to a house noted for its capital suppers?" "Oh, you naughty man," she pouted, "you cannot tease me out of my love for these darlings." "Do you take all these weeds under your protection?" asked the implacable professor. "Then you must have enough to do when the cattle are driven out to pasture." All laughed, and Elsa laughed too. She could take a jest. "But," she replied, "to fall a sacrifice to the stronger is a fate from which even Flora herself cannot shield her children. Thank God, they all grow again! I do not wish to save them from the animals whom they serve for food. It is an enviable lot to sustain life in others by one's own death. I wish to shield them from the contempt of men. Is it not a sacred duty to espouse the cause of the despised? And those who do not discharge it conscientiously in small matters will neglect it in more important things. So let me put my poor thirsty flowers in water, that they may lift up their little heads again." They handed her a glass of water, into which the botanist recommended that a lump of sugar should be thrown, because, as he said, sugar-and-water was so much more nutritious. "Go, go, naughty man," said Elsa, arranging her bouquet. "Look! is not that lovely?" "My good Fräulein Elsa," cried the professor, "do not ask me to be enthusiastic over the beauty of a flower. I have long lost the sense of delight that people feel at sight of a flower. The most beautiful flowers for me are those that furnish most matter for scientific investigation."