82 “THESE THREE.”

irregular edges, till it had hidden them under its
soft green velvet cover. ‘‘ Never mind; the wound
can be healed,” it kept saying as it spread.

And it said well. The spring-time came and the
moss grew greener than ever where it spread, but
there was enough red flower-pot left to form a
beautiful contrast. It stood upright now with as
warm a heart as before. Somebody was caring for
it. This was almost better than carrying the
yellow rose in its bosom. Something nearer,
dearer to itself. 3

“ You will not leave me, I hope?” it said.

“Not of my own accord, ever,” answered the
Moss.

“Tam not so bright always as now, you know,
but never mind ; spring always returns.”

Even when spring was there, however, the gar-
dener took no notice of either of them, which was
perhaps lucky, as he might otherwise have “ at-
tended” to them too much.

The old lady of the house noticed them though,
as she was strolling one day arm-in-arm with her
old husband, the rector, along the garden walk