What is 


OF all the hours in the day, little Flora enjoyed the noonday lunch about the best. It was not only because she brought to it a hearty schoolgirl appetite, but because of the happy chat she was sure to have with mother. 

They two were all by themselves, as father and John went to the city in the early train.

One day a clear white honeycomb lay in a little glass saucer beside her plate. "How beautiful it is, in am in a!" she said. "It seems almost a pity to spoil it. I wonder where the bees gathered all those little wells full of sweets?"

"From many thousands of flowers, no doubt," said mother. "You remember how full of bees our raspberry-blossoms were last spring? It is said the finest honey is found in them. The cherry and apple trees gave their share, but the fruit was just as sweet. 

The white clover is sweet too; but I believe the red clover hides its honey a little too deep for common bees. 

Many humble weeds that we would scarcely notice, hold a sweet drop for the industrious bee."

"I am glad they hunt so well and provide such a dainty for us," said Flora. "Is there anything so sweet as honey?" she added as she cut through the crisp cells with her bright spoon.

"I know something sweeter than the honey or the honeycomb," said mamma.

"I should like to taste it," said Flora.

"Sweet, pleasant, suitable words are to the soul what honey is to the taste. 

You will forget the sweetness of the honeycomb in a little while, but sweet, loving words stay with us forever." 

Child's World.