"Martha! Martha!" some one called from the doorway, and Martha jumped up.

"Come back to-morrow and hear my story," said the Tiger Lily; "and mine," said the Tulip; "and mine," called out the Jonquil.

Martha promised that she would and ran toward the house.

The next day as soon as Martha found herself alone she ran into the garden, for she was curious to hear the promised stories.

The Jonquil spoke first. "My story," it said, with dignity, "will be historical. I am a descendant from the great Narcissus family, and the Narcissus, as you know, is a very beautiful flower; it grows in wild profusion among the stony places along the great Mediterranean and eastward to China. All that you may have heard, but do you know why Narcissus loves to be near the water?"

Martha said she did not.

"I will tell you," replied the Jonquil. "Ages and ages ago Narcissus was the son of a river G.o.d. He was extremely vain of his extraordinary beauty, which he beheld for the first time in the water. He sought out all the pools in the woods and would spend hours gazing at his reflection, and at last he fell in love with his own image.

"Narcissus could neither eat nor sleep, so fascinated did he become with his reflection. He would put his lips near to the water to kiss the lips he saw, and plunge his arms into it to embrace the form he loved, which, of course, fled at his touch, and then returned after a moment to mock him.

"'Why cannot you love me?' he would say to the image; 'the Nymphs have loved me, and I can see love in your eyes'; which, of course, he did, for he did not know he was gazing at his own reflection.

"At last he pined away and died, and in the place of his body was found a beautiful flower, with soft white petals, nodding to its reflection in the water.

"The Daffodils are also my cousins," the Jonquil explained, "and descend from the beautiful Narcissus."

"That is a very pretty story," said Martha, "and the fate of Narcissus should teach all vain people a lesson."

The Tiger Lily told her story next.

"Mine is not a love story," she said; "it is about something I saw in far-off China before I bloomed here.

"In that land little girls are not so happy as they are here because the boys are the pride of the family.

"One day a poor beggar who was faint from hunger and thirst lay down close beside where I bloomed. He groaned aloud in his misery, and a little girl who was pa.s.sing heard him. She came to him and gave him water from a near-by stream and bathed his face. When he was refreshed he asked, 'Who are you, and how did you happen to be here?'

"'I am only a miserable daughter on her way to the mission,' she replied. 'My father is very poor and can provide only for his sons.

If I can reach the mission they will take me in and I shall be taught many things.'

"The beggar only shook his head; he did not believe that a girl was worth even thanking, and that anyone should bother to teach her was past his belief, and so the little girl pa.s.sed on.

"I am telling you this story," said the Tiger Lily, "that you may know how much good your pennies do that you drop into the missionary box, for you see by the kind act of that little girl the Chinese girls are worth saving, for they are kind and good and grow up to be a blessing to their country."

"What became of the beggar?" asked Martha.

"The little girl reached the mission," the Lily said, "and they sent some one from there to take the beggar away. Very likely the missionaries took care of him."

"I am glad you told me that story," said Martha. "I shall try to save more pennies now to send to the little girls in China."

The Tulip spoke next.

"I am afraid," she said, "that my story will not be very interesting, but I don't suppose that many people know that I bloomed long ago in Constantinople, the city of beautiful hills, where the mosques and the tombs and the fountains make a strange picture in the moonlight.

"There the ladies wear queerly draped gowns and their veiled faces leave only their bright eyes exposed.

"Afterward I bloomed in a country where everybody seems happy, and that is the land I love best. The children in that country look like little stuffed dolls in their many petticoats and close-fitting bonnets around their chubby little faces. Their little shoes clatter over the stones, sounding like many horses in the distance. There I was best loved and grew in profusion and beauty around the quaint homes of these quaint-looking people.

"Ah, me, it is a long way from here," sighed the Tulip, "and I often long to hear the sound of the Zuider Zee as I did once long ago."

"Why, she has gone to sleep," said Martha as the Tulip closed and drooped her head, "and I must go in the house. Grandmother will be looking for me."

"Will you come again?" asked the flowers; "there are many more that have stories to tell."

"I shall be glad to hear them," said Martha, "for I had no idea that flowers could tell such interesting stories."

WHEN JACK FROST WAS YOUNG

[Ill.u.s.tration: When Jack Frost was Young]

Not that he is old now, for Jack is a snappy, bright fellow, and will never really grow old--that is, in anything but experience.

And that is exactly what this story is about, the time when Jack Frost was young in experience and would not listen to his mother, old Madam North Wind.

One morning he awoke and hustled about with a will, and Madam North Wind, who had not yet begun to arise early in the morning, was aroused from her slumbers.

"Whatever are you doing, making such a noise at this time in the morning?" she asked her son.

"It is time I was on my round," said Jack Frost, in a snappy, sharp tone. "I mean to begin early and not let all the farmers get ahead of me and get their corn and pumpkins and such things in the barn.

"They will have to look out for me, I tell you, mother. I am a sharp, snappy young fellow, and they must know it."

"You go back to your bed," said old Madam North Wind. "It is not time for frosts yet. You should not begin your rounds for another two weeks at least."

"Oh, mother, you are so old-fashioned," said Jack Frost. "I want to be up and doing. Those farmers think they know everything there is to know about the weather, and I want to show them I am too smart for them. I shall start off to-night."

"You listen to me if you do not wish to spoil all your beautiful colored pictures, Jack," said his mother. "I may be old-fashioned, but I know what the beauty of your work is worth, and if you do not wish to lose your reputation as an artist you go back to your bed and wait until I call you."

But Jack Frost, like many a son, thought his mother was far too old-fashioned; but to keep her from fretting he crept into bed again and kept still until he was sure his mother was asleep.

All day he kept quiet, and when the darkness came he listened to make sure old Madam North Wind was still sleeping before he crept softly out of his bed.

Very quietly he got out his big white coat and cap and then he filled his big white bag with white shiny frost from his mother's chest.

He filled the bag full and then shook it down and put in more. "I'll give them a good one to-night," he said, laughing at the thought of the surprise he would give the farmers.

Then he crept softly past his sleeping mother, and out he went; flying swiftly over hill and dale.

All around he spread the white frost, and when at last he finished his work the old Sun Man, looking over the crest of the hill, was horrified when he looked upon a white world.

"You rascal!" he shouted after Jack Frost's flying shape. "You are far too early! You have spoiled all your pictures for this year!"