Mark would sooner have gone
without salt to his egg than ask Corney to pass it.
This morning the pale boy sat staring at the crocuses--things like them
peeping out of the spring-mould of his spirit to greet them.
"Why don't you eat your breakfast, Mark, dear?" said his mother.
"I'm not hungry, mamma," he answered.
The mother looked at him a little anxiously. He was not a very vigorous
boy in corporeal matters; but, unlike his father's, his light was almost
always shining, and making the faces about him shine.
After a few minutes, he said, as if unconsciously, his eyes fixed on the
crocuses,
"I can't think how they come!"
"They grow!" said Saffy.
Said her father, willing to set them thinking,
"Didn't you see Hester make the paper flowers for her party?"
"Yes," replied Saffy, "but it would take such a time to make all the
flowers in the world that way!"
"So it would; but if a great many angels took it in hand, I suppose they
could do it."
"That can't be how!" said Saffy, laughing; "for you know they come up
out of the earth, and there ain't room to cut them out there!"
"I think they must be cut out and put together before they are made!"
said Mark, very slowly and thoughtfully.
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