[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER VOL. VIII.—NO. 361. NOVEMBER 27, 1886. PRICE ONE PENNY.] THE FLOWER GIRL. [Illustration: THE FLOWER GIRL.] _All rights reserved._] What is she thinking of, what is she dreaming of, Dreaming awhile ere the sun has quite set? Is it the home of her earliest childhood That for a brief hour she cannot forget, Where the sweet violets grew blue in the wild wood With dewdrops all wet? All the day long in the great crowded city— Crowded, yet lonely to each in the crowd— “Violets, sweet violets, a bunch for a penny!” She has been crying, still crying aloud. She has been merry at selling so many, Merry and proud. Now as she watches the sun that is setting, Far o’er the roofs and the masts of the ships, Does her mind turn to the sweet unsold flowers, Gathered by baby hands, pressed by child-lips, While in a day-dream, through wild woodland bowers Once more she trips? Is it the fragrance that clings to her basket— Fragrance of violets that rich men have bought— That takes her to woodlands away from the city, Where with blue violets the moss is enwrought? Surely the wings of God’s angel of pity Shadow her thought. A. M. MERLE’S CRUSADE. BY ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, Author of “Aunt Diana,” “For Lilias,” etc. CHAPTER VIII. LABORARE EST ORARE. My mistress (how I loved to call her by that name!) was beginning to give me her confidence. In a little while I grew quite at my ease with her. She would sit down sometimes and question me about the book I was reading, or, if we talked of the children, she would ask my opinion of them in a way that showed she respected it. She told me more than once that her husband was quite satisfied with me; the children thrived under my care, Reggie especially, for Joyce was somewhat frail and delicate. It gratified me to hear this, for a longer acquaintance with Mr. Morton had not lessened my sense of awe in his presence (I had had to feel the pressure of his strong will before I had been many weeks in his house, and though I had submitted to his enforced commands, they had cost me my only tears of humiliation, and yet all the time I knew he was perfectly just in his demands). The occasion was this. It was a rule that when visitors asked to see the children, a very frequent occurrence when Mrs. Morton received at home, that the head nurse should bring them into the blue drawing-room, as it was called. On two afternoons I had shirked this duty. With all my boasted courage, the idea of facing all those strangers was singularly obnoxious; I chose to consider myself privileged to infringe this part of my office. I dressed the children carefully, and bade Hannah take them to their mother. I thought the girl looked at me and hesitated a moment, but her habitual respect kept her silent.