./ CHRIi>TMAS ROSE. 



707 



Sam'l came out of the house aud found the stage 

 driver peering through the glass of the little cold 

 frame. 



" I don't see, Sam'l, how you did it ! I heard tell 

 you was raising posies, but I didn't 'spect anything 

 like that." 



Sam'l lifted the old window sash. 



The rose had bloomed. 



The two men stood looking at the beautiful white 

 bud in a kind of awesome wonder. To the older 

 man it seemed little short of magic. It was the 

 most beautiful thing he had ever seen. To the 

 younger man it was the crowning of all his labors. 

 The Christmas rose had bloomed. He could give 

 it to her — and he could ask that one favor, that one 

 magnificent reward. 



" My 'Manthy would have loved to see that. She 

 's to be buried to-day, and mother said I was to ask 

 if you could give me that flower — just to put in her 

 hand when we lay her away ?" 



He managed to say this in some sort of broken 

 fashion. Not in those words — yet Sam'l understood. 

 Rube Snow wanted his rose — for his dead child's 

 funeral. Sam'l knew it would be the only flower 

 upon the little coffin. There were no other roses 

 within a hundred miles — and it was Christmas 

 day. 



'Manthy Snow had never attended school since 

 the new teacher came. Still, she was regarded as 

 one of the pupils. It was not strange, therefore, 

 that the schoolmarm should appear at the little 

 frame house among the mourners. She wore a 

 black dress and black kid gloves (the only pair in 

 town) and the dark costume seemed to enhance her 

 brilliant beauty. She seemed altogether of other 

 form and being from the plain folks gathered in 



seemly silence 'round the door. The tall, gaunt men 

 and heavy toil-worn women made way that she might 

 pass into the darkened " fore room " where lay the 

 child asleep. She bent over the quiet face as if to 

 kiss it, and saw in the waxen fingers a white rose 

 bud — the Christmas rose. 



The minister read in a dreary voice, and then the 

 mournful "Balerma" quavered on the air of the 

 darkened house. It seemed all very sad, and yet 

 there was in every heart a sense of gratitude and 

 comfort. The child had gone home in peace with a 

 Christmas rose in its hand. 



The schoolmarm walked along the dry grey 

 road under the bare trees outlined against the in- 

 tense blue of the Christmas sky. She had just 

 left the little procession winding up the hills to- 

 wards the old graveyard on the mountain side. 

 It was put there for safety against the Indians in 

 the old days. Presently she heard a quick step 

 on the brown leaves along the roadside. It was 

 Samuel. 



" I meant to have given it to you." 



"Yes, Samuel, I know it. You have given it 

 to me in giving it to her." 



He walked on in silence for some moments and 

 then he stammered out : 



"You said you would give me something — if I 

 brought you the rose." 



" Did I ? Well, I'd forgotten. What shall it be — 

 a book ?" 



Samuel never asked her. He could not — not 

 then. She never knew what he would ask. Nor 

 does any man or woman. It was locked up in 

 the young man's heart. What did it matter ? 

 The Christmas rose had bloomed. It is character 

 that counts after all ! 



