Chapter Six

by Sallie Chester
Edited by Amber Moeller

"Gracie," said Lizzie, "have we got to 'pologize, do you s'pose?"

"Yes, I do," said Gracie.

"But I don't know how to say it."

"Nor me."

"Nor me," said Bobby.

"If I could write, I'd write it," said Lizzie.

"You can print lovely," said Gracie.

"Now, children," said Lizzie, "you keep still awhile and let me think hard."

After a few moments of perfect quiet Lizzie started up out of bed, and ran to the top of the stairs and called, "Tim! Tim! Tim!"

Presently Tim appeared on the stairs.

"Tim, I want to whisper," said Lizzie.

Tim came up and put his ear to her mouth.

"Tim, dear," said Lizzie, " won't you please do something for me, because I want it awfully?"

"Because I want it awfully," said Tim. "Well, I can't promise, my ducky, till I find out whether it's a good thing for you to have."

"I'll tell you all about it, if you won't laugh," said Lizzie.

"No, I won't," said Tim.

So Lizzie told him. "And now," she said, "we don't want to speak the 'pology, so I'm going to print it out on a nice piece of paper, and I want you please to get me the paper and lead pencil and bring up a lamp. I want all the flowers in my garden."

"Why, Lizzie!"

"Yes, I do," said Lizzie. "Every one; even my pink geranium. And I want you to go out and pick 'em for me now, please. It's moonshiny, and you can see like day."

"And you're been so stingy of your flowers all summer," said Tim; "and think more of that garden than of me, even."

"Not quite, said Lizzie. "But I do love it. Never mind, though, Tim, I want you to pick them all, and maybe I won't feel so ashamed then. Hurry, Tim--and don't forget the pink geranium."

But Tim hadn't the heart to pick the pink geranium, and he came back with his hands full of crimson and scarlet and purple verbenas, but with no geranium.

"Lizzie," he said, "I wouldn't give it to her, pigeon. She won't know the difference. There are lots of beauties here."

"I'll know the difference," said Lizzie. "It's partly to make my own self feel right, that I want to give her my dear pink flower that I've been watching to come open all this ever so long. I must have it."

Time went downstairs slowly.

"Tim!" Lizzie called.

He came back all the way.

"Tim," Lizzie whispered--and there were tears in the child's eyes--"did it look pretty in the moonshine?"

"Yes, it did," said Tim; " and that's the best place for it to stay."

He knew that his little sister loved her flowers just as if they were live things, and that her geranium was as dear to her heart as a pet kitten. It was in bloom for the first time, and the big cluster of little pink blossoms stood up in the center of the bed like a queen. No one knew that Lizzie had stolen down into the garden to kiss the face of her queen of flowers many times since it opened its buds so wide; but it was true. Lizzie kept her secret well, and down in her heart of hearts believed that the flower was alive as much as she.

"Tim," said Lizzie, "you go out in the garden for it, but don't pick it off till I've taken one more good look at it out the window."

To be continued ...

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