A WREATH OF WHITE ROSES. 125

“T know she’s very wicked,” she murmured to herself, “ but
she’s nicer to look at than Patience. What an ugly dress Patience
wears! and what a dull grey sort of complexion she has! Of
course, I trust her and love her; but I wish she looked nice like
wicked Convolvulus.”

“Come, in, my darling,’ said Convolvulus; “I am delighted
to welcome you. Why didn’t you come back with the others
yesterday ? Come in—come in to the cottage at once. Welcome,
welcome—thrice welcome, dear little girl!”

“ But where is Buttercup, and where are the other children?”
asked Primrose.

“You shall see them presently, my dear. This is a holiday,
and we are all greatly excited. Two or three of my sisters have
arrived unexpectedly, and we are making a feast. Your brother
Buttercup and the other children are having their dresses changed
just now. You will see them when you also have put on your
gay and festive robes. Oh, how dusty and travel-stained you look,
poor little Primrose. Come, I have a white dress to put on you
a simple white dress. Don’t you long to wear it?”

“I should certainly like to have something clean on again,”
said Primrose, “but I am more anxious to see Buttercup than
anything else in the world. Please take me to him at once.”

“Tt is impossible for me to do so while you wear this dirty
dress. Buttercup is a little prince now, and it is against the rules
of my house that he should speak to anyone who isn’t dressed
suitably. Come, Primrose, you won’t be long putting on the simple
dress I have prepared for you.”

All the time Convolvulus was speaking Primrose felt her
heart going out to her in the queerest, strangest way. She
struggled against the feeling which made her long to throw her
arms round the lovely green lady’s neck, and whisper to her that
she would gladly follow her to the end of the earth. She won-
dered why all her hatred and anger had been changed by one look
into those deep, sad, lovely eyes.

“T will go with you,” she said, holding out her hand; and