Mrs. Snow still tells the story of how Clematis stole the first dandelion of the springtime, out under the leaves.

People laugh when they hear the story. You see, it all came about because the children told tales on each other, and it was a good joke on them.

But as Clematis stood there, before Mrs. Snow and Miss Rose, she didn’t see the joke at all. She cried, and hid her face in her arms.

“Come here, dear,” said Mrs. Snow. “It is all right, and you shall have every dandelion you find in the yard.”

“Wasn’t it stealing?” sobbed Clematis.

“No, it was all right, if you found it first.”

“And can I have all I find first?”

“Yes, indeed you can.”

Clematis lifted her head, and wiped the tears from her eyes.

“Oh,” she said, and seemed happy once more. She smoothed the limp little flower in her hot hand.

“And now,” said Mrs. Snow, “I wonder if you can tell us some more about yourself.”

“Yes’m, I’ll tell you all you ask, and I won’t tell any lies.”

“I’m sure you won’t. Perhaps you can remember, now, where you lived before you came here.”

Clematis shook her head. “I told Miss Rose every single thing,” she said, “except—”

“Except what?”

“Except that I ran away.”

Clematis hung her head again.

“Why did you run away?”

“Well, wouldn’t you run away, if you had to stay in a yard all day that was nothing but bricks?”

Mrs. Snow smiled. “Perhaps I would,” she replied.

“Didn’t you ever go out at all?” asked Miss Rose, who had been listening.

“Just sometimes, to go over to the store. Just across the street and back, and that was all bricks, too.”

“Do you think you could find your way home again, if Miss Rose went with you?”

Clematis shook her head. “Oh, no. It was a long, long way. I was most dead from walking.”

Mrs. Snow thought a moment. Then she said, “Miss Rose tells me that you have not learned to read. Is that true?”

“Yes’m, I never learned to do anything except count the change I got. But I can learn to read, and do numbers, too.”

Clematis spoke without sobbing now. She was thinking of the country, where girls went who did well.

“Do you think you could take her in a class by herself for a short time?” Mrs. Snow asked, turning to Miss Rose.

Miss Rose was about to answer, when one of the older girls came to the door.

“What is it, Ruth?”

“Please, Mrs. Snow, a man wants to see you.”

“What is his name?”

“His name is Smith. He wants to see you about a little girl.”

As she said this, Miss Rose looked up quickly.

Clematis also looked up. Her face turned red, and she put a finger in her mouth.

“Tell him to come in here.”

In another minute a small, thin man walked in.

He was poorly dressed, and looked as if he had been ill.

“Did you wish to see me about one of the children?” asked Mrs. Snow.

“Yes, marm, about this little girl right here.”

The man turned and smiled at Clematis, who was standing close by Miss Rose.

“Hello, Clematis, I thought I should find you somewhere.”

Clematis smiled too, but she did not speak.

“Oh,” said Mrs. Snow, “are you the one who took care of this little girl?”

“Yes, marm. I’ve had her ever since she was a little baby.”

Mrs. Snow thought a minute.

“I suppose you want to take her home with you.”

“I don’t know about that. I have no home to keep a child in, and do right by her. You see, my wife is sick most of the time.”

“Don’t you know any of her folks who could care for her?”

“No, marm. Her mother came to our house when Clematis was a tiny baby. She said the father was dead. Then she died too, and we could never find out who she was.”

“Do you know her last name?” asked Miss Rose.

“No, miss. We never knew her last name. She said it was Jones, but we never believed that was the truth. This little girl we just called Clematis.”

“Didn’t she have anything to help you find out who she was?” asked Mrs. Snow in surprise.

“Not a single thing, except this picture.”

The man took out a small photograph.

It showed three girls standing together in front of a brick building.

“That is her mother on the left, marm, but I don’t see how the picture helps very much.”

“That is true. Still, the picture is better than nothing.”

“That is just what we thought, marm,” Mr. Smith replied. “We kept her along, hoping we should find some one to claim her, but no one came. She is too big for us to care for now.”

“Then you are ready to give her up?”

“Yes, marm, if you will care for her. She is very restless, and always wanting to run off.”

Mrs. Snow turned to Clematis.

“Do you think you would rather stay here, than go back with Mr. Smith?”

“Yes’m,” said Clematis, quickly. She had been thinking of the visits to the country. If she went back to the yard, all made of bricks, how would she ever see the grass and flowers?

“Very well, Mr. Smith. I think you have done a good deal to keep her as long as you have. She was well fed, even if she didn’t learn much.”

“Thank you, marm.”

Then Miss Rose took Clematis out of the office, while Mrs. Snow talked with Mr. Smith.

All the afternoon Clematis wondered what they were going to do with her.

After supper Miss Rose called to her, as the children were going to the playroom.

“Clematis,” she said, “do you think that if you stayed here you could work real hard, and learn to do as the other children do?”

“Yes’m.”

“Very well. Mrs. Snow finds that we can keep you here. I will try to teach you myself, so you can catch up with the other children.”

“Yes’m,” said Clematis.

That is all she said, but she was so glad, that she could not sleep for a long time after she went to bed.

She lay awake thinking, and thinking, of the things she would learn to do, so she might go at last to the country, the land of flowers, and grass, and birds; the land where white clouds floated always in a blue, blue sky.