lled, cordially. "I can't spare the roses until
after supper, so you will have to come in and eat with me. You've no
idea how much I have enjoyed them!"

Cicely paused timidly on the threshold. There were the gorgeous
American Beauties in a tall vase in the middle of the table, between
some softly shaded candles. And there was a bright lamp on the open
piano, and a glowing coal fire in the grate. The little table was
spread for two, and a savoury smell of oysters stole out from the
chafing-dish Miss Wade had just uncovered.

"We'll celebrate the New Year together, and drink to our friendship in
good strong coffee," said Miss Waite, lifting the steaming pot from
the hearth. "Draw your chair right up to the table, please, while
everything is hot."

Only one who has been as cold and hungry and homesick as Cicely was,
can know how much that evening meant to her, or how the cheer and the
warmth of it all comforted her lonely little heart. The best of it was
that it was only a beginning, and there were few nights afterward,
during that long winter, when the warmth and light of Miss Waite's
room was not shared for awhile, at least, with the little seamstress.

The roses lasted more than a week; then Miss Waite helped Cicely to
gather up the petals as they fell, and together they packed them away
in a little rose-jar, according to an old recipe that Miss Waite read
out of her grandmother's time-yellowed note-book.

Then Cicely brought Miss Balfour's note.

[Illustration: "THE CHEER AND WARMTH OF IT ALL COMFORTED HER."]

"I want to preserve this, too," she said, dropping it in among the
dried rose-leaves. "You told me that Rhoda means 'little rose,' and
that line, 'Sincerely your friend,' was as sweet to me that day as the
flowers themselves. As long as I live I shall think of her as an
'American Beauty.'"

She lifted the little rose-jar for one more whiff of its faint, sweet
fragrance, and said, slowly, as she closed it again, "And as long as I
live the thought of her will help to take the sting out of all my
thorns."

ALIDA'S HOMELINESS

ALIDA'S HOMELINESS

With a sigh of relief Alida Gooding saw the dentist put away his
instruments. Her nerves seemed all aquiver as she slowly rose and went
into the little dressing-room to put on her hat and coat, and to wait
for the family carriage which was to call for her at this hour.

She was a plain-looking girl of eighteen, with homely, irregular
features