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to say, that in this cold country she could not grow 
so tall or so vigorous as in the sunny south. “We 
wither there sooner than here, and yet I had rather 
live there,” she sighed, “ for what is life worth under 
foreign skies and in cold winds ? I believe all I gain 
by the change is in fragrance. The sun does not 
love me so well here—he does not call forth all my 
sweets, and they dwell within my folds, to cheer 
such loving beings as you are.” And Mary could 
not be sorry that the sun left such perfumes to the 
earth. 
“ Do not fear to gather my flowers, sweet one,” 
said Pendulina, rose of the hanging seed, “for I have 
no thorns.” 
The Cherokee Rose begged Mary to come and 
hear her story. 
“ It is not about myself,” she said, “ but I have 
heard that the kind friends who nourished my youth 
