The Doll’s Funeral 89

But as he did so it was evident that some
new thought had struck him. He hesitated.
“You have forgotten one thing,” he said.

“What is it?” asked Doris.

‘There are always flowers,” he said.

‘ But the winter has been so cold,” she
said; “there are no flowers in all the
garden, and all the chrysanthemums are-
dead.”

“There ought to be flowers,” said the man.

“They are all dead,” said Doris.

“Ah, well,” said the Visitor, ‘that is
the way of flowers. But I think I can
make it all right.”

He plunged his hand into his breast
pocket, and produced a pocket-book, which
he opened carefully. There was a moment’s
pause. Then he drew from the book a
brown pressed flower, that might once
have been a rose. He held it reverently
between his fingers, hesitated, and then
dropped it into the little pit.

“There,” he said, ‘that is what was
wanted.”