The voice in the radio-box had been talking all day—it sounded quite serious, and a little bit scared. It seemed like a lot of people had been feeling under the weather, and had been told to stay home and rest.

Tiny’s heart-bird flapped anxiously in her chest. “Who will have tea with Miss Rose?” she wondered, “And help Old Man Guthrie in his vegetable garden?” She worried about what to do, fretted about how long it would last.

Tiny wandered into the twilit garden. Spring had begun to curl its delicate fingers around Treetops. Peepers chattered excitedly in the growing dusk, as Mama and Papa robin attended to their nest. The world seemed just as it had before, but she knew it had changed.

What Tiny really wanted was to tell her friends how much she loved them, bring them some cheer, or send flowers. But the beds were empty, and the markets were closed. A seed of an idea began to sprout in her mind. She fetched her sketchbook and pencils, and the Language of Flowers book. On the pad she drew thyme to bring courage, honeysuckle for love, and zinnias for her absent friends. As she worked, the air grew thick and hazy with the sweet floral aromas.
When she had finished, she tore them free, and buried each paper flower deep into the soil. She surrounded them with a heart which she drew with her finger, and bid them goodnight with a kiss. Tiny’s eyes felt as heavy as stones; she lay her warm body upon the cool dark earth, and slept.

When she awoke, Mother-the-Sun was peeking over the horizon. Tiny sat up and gasped in wonder. All around her, in the shape of a perfect heart, tender green shoots poked their faces through the ground, ready to meet the world.

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