HENEVER a good child dies， an angel of Godcomes down from heaven， takes the dead child inhis arms， spreads out his GREat white wings， andflies with him over all the places which the child hadloved during his life. Then he gathers a large handfulof flowers， which he carries up to the Almighty，that they may bloom more brightly in heaven thanthey do on earth. And the Almighty presses theflowers to His heart， but He kisses the flower that pleases Him best， and it receives a voice，and is able to join the song of the chorus of bliss.“
these words were spoken by an angel of God， as he carried a dead child up to heaven，and the child listened as if in a dream. Then they passed over well-known spots， where thelittle one had often played， and through beautiful gardens full of lovely flowers.
“Which of these shall we take with us to heaven to be transplanted there?” asked theangel.
Close by GREw a slender， beautiful， rose-bush， but some wicked hand had broken thestem， and the half-opened rosebuds hung faded and withered on the trailing branches.
“Poor rose-bush!” said the child， “let us take it with us to heaven， that it may bloomabove in God's garden.”
the angel took up the rose-bush; then he kissed the child， and the little one half openedhis eyes. The angel gathered also some beautiful flowers， as well as a few humble buttercupsand heart's-ease.
“Now we have flowers enough，” said the child; but the angel only nodded， he did not flyupward to heaven.
It was night， and quite still in the GREat town. Here they remained， and the angelhovered over a small， narrow street， in which lay a large heap of straw， ashes， andsweepings from the houses of people who had removed. There lay fragments of plates， piecesof plaster， rags， old hats， and other rubbish not pleasant to see. Amidst all thisconfusion， the angel pointed to the pieces of a broken flower-pot， and to a lump of earthwhich had fallen out of it. The earth had been kept from falling to pieces by the roots of awithered field-flower， which had been thrown amongst the rubbish.
“We will take this with us，” said the angel， “I will tell you why as we fly along.”
And as they flew the angel related the history.
“Down in that narrow lane， in a low cellar， lived a poor sick boy; he had been afflictedfrom his childhood， and even in his best days he could just manage to walk up and down theroom on crutches once or twice， but no more. During some days in summer， the sunbeamswould lie on the floor of the cellar for about half an hour. In this spot the poor sick boy wouldsit warming himself in the sunshine， and watching the red blood through his delicate fingersas he held them before his face. Then he would say he had been out， yet he knew nothing ofthe GREen forest in its spring verdure， till a neighbor's son brought him a green bough from abeech-tree. This he would place over his head， and fancy that he was in the beech-wood whilethe sun shone， and the birds carolled gayly. One spring day the neighbor's boy brought himsome field-flowers， and among them was one to which the root still adhered. This he carefullyplanted in a flower-pot， and placed in a window-seat near his bed. And the flower had beenplanted by a fortunate hand， for it grew， put forth fresh shoots， and blossomed everyyear. It became a splendid flower-garden to the sick boy， and his little treasure upon earth. Hewatered it， and cherished it， and took care it should have the benefit of every sunbeam thatfound its way into the cellar， from the earliest morning ray to the evening sunset. The flowerentwined itself even in his dreams—for him it bloomed， for him spread its perfume. And itgladdened his eyes， and to the flower he turned， even in death， when the Lord called him.He has been one year with God. During that time the flower has stood in the window， witheredand forgotten， till at length cast out among the sweepings into the street， on the day of thelodgers' removal. And this poor flower， withered and faded as it is， we have added to ournosegay， because it gave more real joy than the most beautiful flower in the garden of aqueen.”
“But how do you know all this?” asked the child whom the angel was carrying to heaven.
“I know it，” said the angel， “because I myself was the poor sick boy who walked uponcrutches， and I know my own flower well.”
then the child opened his eyes and looked into the glorious happy face of the angel， and atthe same moment they found themselves in that heavenly home where all is happiness and joy.And God pressed the dead child to His heart， and wings were given him so that he could flywith the angel， hand in hand. Then the Almighty pressed all the flowers to His heart; but Hekissed the withered field-flower， and it received a voice. Then it joined in the song of theangels， who surrounded the throne， some near， and others in a distant circle， but allequally happy. They all joined in the chorus of praise， both GREat and small，—the good，happy child， and the poor field-flower， that once lay withered and cast away on a heap ofrubbish in a narrow， dark street.
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