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BS eee LITTLE pet Millicent, seated here ; Primroses round her ; nobody near. Playing by Mother’s sofa to-day, (Poor Mother is sick,) she heard her say :— / “ Away in the fair green fields, I know, (c My pet primroses so sweetly blow.” A tiny sigh, and two wistful eyes ; No more than that, but Millie is wise. oe. Without a word she has slipped away ; Mother shall have her flowers to-day. One by one she is plucking them fast ; Till surely none will be left at last. A pile in the basket, loosely pressed ; Mother herself will arrange them best. So dearly she loves them—-who can tell, Perhaps they may help to make her well.
