THEY WOULD NOT BE PARTED.


Primrose walked down the street, passing by the little cottage which
for so many years had been her home. Her sisters did not expect her to
return to dinner, and her heart was too full to allow her to go in
just then.

So they were to be parted--this was the advice of those who called
themselves their friends. Primrose, Jasmine, and Daisy, her three
flowers, as mother had called them, were no longer to grow sweetly in
one garden together. They were to be parted--Primrose was to go one
way, and the little ones another. Impulsive Jasmine would no longer
cry out her griefs on Primrose's neck, or tell her joys and griefs,
her hopes and aspirations, to the calm and elder sister. Daisy--their
baby, as Primrose called her--might be ill or sad, or lonely, and she,
Primrose, would no longer be there to comfort her.

Parted! No, they should not be parted--all their young lives they had
lived together, and whether they starved, or whether they feasted,
they would live together still. Thank God, no one had any real
control over them--their very loneliness would now, therefore, be
their safety--they might sketch out their own career, and no one could
prevent them.

Primrose said to herself--

"After all, I am glad I know the very worst. People mean to be kind;
but, oh! how can they understand what we three girls are to one