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One corner of the garden was devoted to flowers, and in this spot the soul of Betty delighted. True, there had been many insidious foes to conquer before a satisfactory result had been obtained. The seedlings which had first appeared in the spring had been destroyed by a cruel frost. Other seeds were sown with many hopes. These grew feebly and were carefully tended by the child. Then the heavy rains came, lasting several weeks, and it seemed as though the tender plants would be bodily washed away. Betty, clad in Moses’ slicker, visited them one stormy day, and as she realized their danger, her tears mingled with the rain-drops on her cheeks. But the Storm-King was only acting his worst, because his reign was nearly over. Next morning, when Betty rose, the clouds had rolled away and the golden sun himself was peering at her through the curtains. Since that time of anxiety the plants had grown and thrived and excepting for an occasional day of strong winds and the nibblings of a few gophers, had had no setbacks. “What is the matter with your hand?” May Nell asked as she drew the work-worn hand down and patted it. “It doesn’t feel like my mama’s. And you have only one ring, a plain one. Are your others in the bank? My mama has ever so many,—diamonds, rubies, and such a big sapphire, perfectly exquisite! And they look elegant on her hand,—she has a perfectly beautiful hand.” Betty said her prayers that night before her cyclamen. It seemed to her a “mornin’-glory that had been growed by an angel, its petals sparkled so, an’ it smelled so pure.” She breathed very softly her thanksgiving, with a vague feeling that it had wings and could find its way better than she knew. “Them’s thum,” was the sophisticated answer..