The enthusiastic florist was always pleased to do this, much more when one could open up such treasures of riches on any theme as could this devout student of nature. And so, all unawares as they went about, she was drifted into a sea of most delightful talk. They discussed families and the different members, as if people and not plants were being analyzed. He described some of the curious relatives of these families that he had met in foreign lands. Then they came down to the broad plane; the wonderful variety in form, color and fragrance, of God's beautiful creations, the thought of us in it all; and here there were so many things to be said, such perfect harmony of thought, that the talk flowed on and on, until Lily had forgotten that she was to maintain a dignified reserve toward this friend of her grandfather's. They came at last to clusters of lilies of the valley—just putting forth creamy bells. "Dear little hardy things," Mr. Thornton said, bending over them. "These are petted children, but their poor relations come trooping out before winter has fairly left us. They are my favorite lilies, so brave and sweet and modest." "You surely forget," Lily said, "that the lily family is a large one." "Yes, I know. There's that immense one, all purple and gold and crimson; you may admire it in the distance. Then the day lilies are sweet, but they are stiff and ungraceful. The tiger lilies are showy, but mere show never commends itself to me; they have no fragrance." "You forget the queenly calla." "No; she is grand and beautiful, with stately manners, but you cannot take her right into your heart like these tiny creatures. These fit everywhere. They may fasten the bride's veil or strew the dead baby's pillow. You may give a handful to a beggar, or lay them in a sick, weak hand, and their perfume will steal softly up and bring comfort. They are such drooping, graceful bells, humbly hiding away in their green. I repeat, I love them best. Will you give me a few for my friend? She, too, is a lover of them." Lily was vexed at herself that her cheek just then took on the hue of the rose that it brushed against. "His 'friend!' alway that friend. Why did she seem like an unwelcome spectre?" While she clipped the stems and put them together, he talked on. "I said these were the flower of flowers to me; I should have excepted one other." Has she not been so occupied in controlling the disturbance that "my friend" aroused, she would have noticed a quality in the tones that had not been there before, as well as the look that searched her face when she raised her eyes, after a little pause, with "Well?" "This flower that I have in mind is a very hardy one, also. It will flourish in almost any climate; indeed, the more rocky the soil, and the rougher the winds that blow upon it, the more beautifully it develops." "That is strange," she said, intent on fashioning her bouquet. "What is stranger still, it blooms all the year round."