"No doubt the workmen who will come to
prepare the ground for the new library will laugh and
joke among themselves when they see the oven, and they
will kick it with their heels, and wonder what the old
brick mound could have been."
There was a little twisted smile on her face as she
rose--a smile that brought a hot mist of tears to my
eyes. There was tragedy itself in that spare, homely
figure standing there in the garden, the wind twining her
skirts about her.
"You should but see the children peering over the
fence to see my flowers in the summer," she said. The
blue eyes wore a wistful, far-away look. "All the
children know my garden. It blooms from April to
October. There I have my sweet peas; and here my roses--
thousands of them! Some are as red as a drop of blood,
and some as white as a bridal wreath. When they are
blossoming it makes the heart ache, it is so beautiful."
She had quite forgotten me now. For her the garden
was all abloom once more. It was as though the Spirit of
the Flowers had touched the naked twigs with fairy
fingers, waking them into glowing life for her who never
again was to shower her love and care upon them.
"These are my poppies.
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