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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. You will not leave me, I hope ?" it said. "Not of my own accord, ever," answered the Moss. "I am not so bright always as now, you know, but never mind; spring always returns." Even when spring was there, however, the gardener took no notice of either of them, which was perhaps lucky, as he might otherwise have "attended" 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