a.

 

 

140 Tom Seven Years Old.

 

“No wonder you took some time to make
out of that hard, dry grain,” he cried, “and
some time to push up through the ground.
It was well worth while your waiting, you
pretty things !”

And he was so pleased to see his own name
written so neatly in green, that he ran at once
to fetch Archie to show him the letters.

Every morning the stalks rose higher, and
new leaves came out. And, after waiting
again, dear little buds appeared, which at last
burst open, showing nice little green flowers,
which smelt as sweetly as violets, though the
perfume was quite different. Tom remem-
bered their faces well, and could tell the name.
It was mignonette. |

A week afterwards, Tom heard old Ben-
jamin was gone.

“Poor Matty, poor Matty!” said his
mamma ; “she’s so sad and unhappy.”

Tom said nothing, but waited till his lessons
were done. Then he seized his hat and ran
out. He meant to go and comfort’ Matty.
When he came to the cottage, the door was