`` Molly , my dear , here is something for you , '' he said ; and when she stood beside him , added , as he put the keys into her hand , keeping both in his own for a minute , -- `` Those are the keys to your mother 's things . I always meant you to have them , when you were old enough to use or care for them . I think you 'll fancy this better than any other present , for you are a good child , and very like her . '' Something seemed to get into his throat there , and Molly put her arm round his neck , saying , with a little choke in her own voice , `` Thank you , father , I 'd rather have this than anything else in the world , and I 'll try to be more like her every day , for your sake . '' He kissed her , then said , as he began to stir his papers about , `` I must write some letters . Run off to bed , child . Good-night , my dear , good-night . '' Seeing that he wanted to be alone , Molly slipped away , feeling that she had received a very precious gift ; for she remembered the dear , dead mother , and had often longed to possess the relics laid away in the one room where order reigned and Miss Bat had no power to meddle . As she slowly undressed , she was not thinking of the pretty new gowns in which she was to be `` as gay as a butterfly , '' but of the half-worn garments waiting for her hands to unfold with a tender touch ; and when she fell asleep , with the keys under her pillow and her arms round Boo , a few happy tears on her cheeks seemed to show that , in trying to do the duty which lay nearest her , she had earned a very sweet reward . So the little missionaries succeeded better in their second attempt than in their first ; for , though still very far from being perfect girls , each was slowly learning , in her own way , one of the three lessons all are the better for knowing -- that cheerfulness can change misfortune into love and friends ; that in ordering one 's self aright one helps others to do the same ; and that the power of finding beauty in the humblest things makes home happy and life lovely . Chapter XVIII . May Baskets Spring was late that year , but to Jill it seemed the loveliest she had ever known , for hope was growing green and strong in her own little heart , and all the world looked beautiful . With the help of the brace she could sit up for a short time every day , and when the air was mild enough she was warmly wrapped and allowed to look out at the open window into the garden , where the gold and purple crocuses were coming bravely up , and the snowdrops nodded their delicate heads as if calling to her , -- `` Good day , little sister , come out and play with us , for winter is over and spring is here . '' `` I wish I could ! '' thought Jill , as the soft wind kissed a tinge of color into her pale cheeks . `` Never mind , they have been shut up in a darker place than I for months , and had no fun at all ; I wo n't fret , but think about July and the seashore while I work . '' The job now in hand was May baskets , for it was the custom of the children to hang them on the doors of their friends the night before May-day ; and the girls had agreed to supply baskets if the boys would hunt for flowers , much the harder task of the two . Jill had more leisure as well as taste and skill than the other girls , so she amused herself with making a goodly store of pretty baskets of all shapes , sizes , and colors , quite confident that they would be filled , though not a flower had shown its head except a few hardy dandelions , and here and there a small cluster of saxifrage . The violets would not open their blue eyes till the sunshine was warmer , the columbines refused to dance with the boisterous east wind , the ferns kept themselves rolled up in their brown flannel jackets , and little Hepatica , with many another spring beauty , hid away in the woods , afraid to venture out , in spite of the eager welcome awaiting them . But the birds had come , punctual as ever , and the bluejays were screaming in the orchard , robins were perking up their heads and tails as they went house-hunting , purple finches in their little red hoods were feasting on the spruce buds , and the faithful chip birds chirped gayly on the grapevine trellis where they had lived all winter , warming their little gray breasts against the southern side of the house when the sun shone , and hiding under the evergreen boughs when the snow fell .
`` That tree is a sort of bird 's hotel , '' said XXXXX , looking out at the tall spruce before her window , every spray now tipped with a soft green .
Hepatica Jill crocuses day house-hunting minute relics saxifrage tinge trellis