She tied it with a pure white ribbon, so that it looked not unlike a bridal gift; and pressing her lips to it long and silently, she laid it in the old drawer.

There it still remained.

The paper was as white, the ribbon was as pure as ever.

Only the flowers were withered.

But her heart was not a flower.
"Well, Aunt Martha," said she, several months after the death of old Christopher Burt, "I really think you are coming back to this world again." The young woman smiled, while the older one busily drove her needle.
"Why," continued Amy, "here is a white collar; and you have actually smiled at least six times in as many months!" The older woman still said nothing.