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“Thank you. I didn’t want it only because it was pretty, but I wanted to copy it. I can’t get any for myself, and so I can’t do my make-believe ones well. Madame won’t even lend me the old ones in the store, and Estelle has none to spare for me, because I can’t pay her for teaching me. She gives me bits of muslin and wire and things, and shows me now and then. But I know if I had a real flower I could copy it; so she’d see I did know something, for I try real hard. I’m SO tired of slopping round the streets, I’d do anything to earn my living some other way.”

Lizzie had poured out her trouble rapidly; and the little story was quite affecting when one saw the tears on her cheeks, the poor clothes, and the thin hands that held the stolen rose. Belle was much touched, and, in her impetuous way, set about mending matters as fast as possible.

“Put on those boots and that pair of dry stockings right away. Then tuck as much cake and fruit into your pocket as it will hold. I’m going to get you some flowers, and see if mamma is too busy to attend to me.”

With a nod and a smile, Belle flew about the room a minute; then vanished, leaving Lizzie to her comfortable task, feeling as if fairies still haunted the world as in the good old times.

When Belle came back with a handful of roses, she found Lizzie absorbed in admiring contemplation of her new boots, as she ate sponge-cake in a blissful sort of waking-dream.

“Mamma can’t come; but I don’t care about the hat. It will do very well, and isn’t worth fussing about. There, will those be of any use to you?” And she offered the nosegay with a much happier face than the one Lizzie first saw.

“Oh, miss, they’re just lovely! I’ll copy that pink rose as soon as ever I can, and when I’ve learned how to do ’em tip-top, I’d like to bring you some, if you don’t mind,” answered Lizzie, smiling all over her face as she buried her nose luxuriously in the fragrant mass.

“I’d like it very much, for I should think you’d have to be very clever to make such pretty things. I really quite fancy those rosebuds in my hat, now I know that you’re going to learn how to make them. Put an orange in your pocket, and the flowers in water as soon as you can, so they’ll be fresh when you want them. Good-by. Bring home our hats every time and tell me how you get on.”

With kind words like these, Belle dismissed Lizzie, who ran downstairs, feeling as rich as if she had found a fortune. Away to the next place she hurried, anxious to get her errands done and the precious posy safely into fresh water. But Mrs. Turretviile was not at home, and the bonnet could not be left till paid for. So Lizzie turned to go down the high steps, glad that she need not wait. She stopped one instant to take a delicious sniff at her flowers, and that was the last happy moment that poor Lizzie knew for many weary months.

The new boots were large for her, the steps slippery with sleet, and down went the little errand girl, from top to bottom, till she landed in the gutter directly upon Mrs. Turretville’s costly bonnet.

“I’ve saved my posies, anyway,” sighed Lizzie, as she picked herself up, bruised, wet, and faint with pain; “but, oh, my heart! won’t Madame scold when she sees that band-box smashed flat,” groaned the poor child, sitting on the curbstone to get her breath and view the disaster.

The rain poured, the wind blew, the sparrows on the park railing chirped derisively, and no one came along to help Lizzie out of her troubles. Slowly she gathered up her burdens; painfully she limped away in the big boots; and the last the naughty sparrows saw of her was a shabby little figure going round the corner, with a pale, tearful face held lovingly over the bright bouquet that was her one treasure and her only comfort in the moment which brought to her the great misfortune of her life.