But the butterflies, the red and the yellow ones, said: "No, if our white brother may not go into your flower cup with us, we will stay out here in the rain with him." And away they flew. It rained harder and harder and they flew to a white lily and said: "Good lily, open your flower cup a little so that we may find shelter from this rain." The lily answered, "I will open my flower cup so that the white butterfly may come in because he is like me, but the red and yellow butterflies must stay out in the rain." Then the white butterfly said: "No; if you will not shelter my brothers, you cannot shelter me. We would rather stay outside together and be wet than leave one another in need." And the three little butterflies flew farther on together. It happened that the jolly old sun who was behind the clouds heard all that was said and he knew how kind the little butterfly brothers were to each other, for, had they not stayed together in spite of the hard, hard rain? So his sunbeams pierced the clouds and drove away the rain, and it was clear and bright once more in the garden. The butterflies were not wet long for the sunbeams soon dried their wings and warmed their bodies. Then how merry they were! They danced again and played among the flowers until it was evening, then they flew away together to their house—and the door was wide open! THE PINKS The pinks along my garden walks Have all shot forth their summer stalks, Thronging their buds 'mong tulips hot, And blue forget-me-not. Their dazzling snows forth-bursting soon Will lade the idle breath of June: And waken through the fragrant night To steal the pale moonlight. ROBERT BRIDGES. THE FLOWER'S THANKS LYMAN ABBOTT A little flower lay drooping on the ground under an August sun. For days there had been no rain. The earth was dry and hard. The little flower had held up its open mouth for rain, but no rain had come. And now it was dying of thirst. As it lay dying a shadow passed over the sun. The air became dark. Heavy thunder rolled. Flashes of lightning chased each other across the sky. The birds hushed their singing. The very leaves of the tree stood still. At last two big drops fell at the root of the little flower. A moment, and then the air was full of raindrops. They lifted the dying flower. They washed it, fed it and brought it back to life. When the sun broke through the clouds, two great tears glistened on the little flower's cheek. They were tears of thankfulness. Then the flower lifted up its voice and said: "Thank you, raindrops,—good raindrops,—you have saved my life." But the raindrops answered, "Thank not us; thank the clouds; they sent us."