brighter as it fell upon the little form so humbly kneeling there.

The King's stern face grew milder as he gazed on the gentle Fairy,
and the flowers seemed to look beseechingly upon him; while their
fragrant voices sounded softly in his ear, telling of their dying
sisters, and of the joy it gives to bring happiness to the weak
and sorrowing. But he drew the dark mantle closer over his breast
and answered coldly,--

"I cannot grant your prayer, little Fairy; it is my will
the flowers should die. Go back to your Queen, and tell her
that I cannot yield my power to please these foolish flowers."

Then Violet hung the wreath above the throne, and with weary foot
went forth again, out into the cold, dark gardens, and still the
golden shadows followed her, and wherever they fell, flowers bloomed
and green leaves rustled.

Then came the Frost-Spirits, and beneath their cold wings the
flowers died, while the Spirits bore Violet to a low, dark cell,
saying as they left her, that their King was angry that she had dared
to stay when he had bid her go.

So all alone she sat, and sad thoughts of her happy home came back
to her, and she wept bitterly. But soon came visions of the gentle
flowers dying in their forest homes, and their voices ringing
in her ear, imploring her to save them. Then she wept no longer,
but patiently awaited what might come.

Soon the golden light gleamed faintly through the cell, and she heard