“I do; for, ever since I was a child, I always see a little face when I look at this flower. Sometimes it is a sad one, sometimes it’s merry, often roguish, but always a dear little face; and when I see so many together, it’s like a flock of children, all nodding and smiling at me at once.” “So it is!” and David nodded, and smiled himself, as he handed her two or three of the finest, as if it was as natural a thing as to put a sprig of mignonette in his own button-hole. Christie thanked him, and then jumped up, remembering that she came there to work, not to dream. He seemed to understand, and went into a little room near by, saying, as he pointed to a heap of gay flowers on the table: “These are to be made into little bouquets for a ‘German’ to-night. It is pretty work, and better fitted for a woman’s fingers than a man’s. This is all you have to do, and you can use your taste as to colors.” While he spoke David laid a red and white carnation on a bit of smilax, tied them together, twisted a morsel of silver foil about the stems, and laid it before Christie as a sample. “Yes, I can do that, and shall like it very much,” she said, burying her nose in the mass of sweetness before her, and feeling as if her new situation grew pleasanter every minute. “Here is the apron my mother uses, that bit of silk will soon be spoilt, for the flowers are wet,” and David gravely offered her a large checked pinafore. Christie could not help laughing as she put it on: all this was so different from the imaginary picture she had made. She was disappointed, and yet she began to feel as if the simple truth was better than the sentimental fiction; and glanced up at David involuntarily to see if there were any traces of interesting woe about him. But he was looking at her with the steady, straight-forward look which she liked so much, yet could not meet just yet; and all she saw was that he was smiling also with an indulgent expression as if she was a little girl whom he was trying to amuse. “Make a few, and I’ll be back directly when I have attended to another order,” and he went away thinking Christie’s face was very like the pansies they had been talking about,—one of the sombre ones with a bright touch of gold deep down in the heart, for thin and pale as the face was, it lighted up at a kind word, and all the sadness vanished out of the anxious eyes when the frank laugh came. Christie fell to work with a woman’s interest in such a pleasant task, and soon tied and twisted skilfully, exercising all her taste in contrasts, and the pretty little conceits flower-lovers can produce. She was so interested that presently she began to hum half unconsciously, as she was apt to do when happily employed: “Welcome, maids of honor, You do bring In the spring, And wait upon her. She has virgins many, Fresh and fair, Yet you are More sweet than any.” There she stopped, for David’s step drew near, and she remembered where she was.