the pleasantest houses in the isolated village of
Tannenegg, waiting for the sound of the church bell, as the signal to lift
the covered bier on which was stretched the body of a young woman, the
last victim to the north wind's cruel stroke, and to bear her to her
final resting place. In the quiet room within, two children were seated on
a bench, which ran along the wall. They formed a striking contrast to each
other. The girl, a little black-eyed frowning thing, dressed in some
mourning stuff, followed with fierce looks the rapid movements of a woman
who, standing before an open cup-board, was moving its contents over and
about, as if in search of something that did not come to hand. The boy was
also watching her, but his dancing blue eyes had in them a merry look of
pleased expectation.

"I want to go out, Cousin Judith," said the girl, and her tones were half
angry, half anxious, "Where can my mother be?"

"Be still, be still," said the woman, still tumbling the contents of the
cup-board about nervously. "I shall find something pretty for you
presently; then you must sit down quietly and play with it, and not go
outside, not one step, do you hear? Pshaw! there is nothing but rubbish
here!"

"Well, then give us the rose," said the little girl, still scowling.

The woman looked about the room.

"There are no roses here," she said. "How should there be, in March?" she
added, half vexed at having looked for them. "There," said the child,
pointing towards a book that the woman had but a moment before replaced in
the cup-board.

"Ah! now I know what you mean. So your mother always kept the rose, the
"Fortune rose?" I often envied her when she used to show it to us in her
hymn-book;" and as she spoke, she turned the leaves of the old hymnal,
until she found the rose and handed it to the child.

"Take it," she said, "be quiet, and do not get up from your seats till I
come back;" and she hurried from the room.

The little girl took the prettily-painted rose, in her hand; it was an old
acquaintance, her favorite Sunday plaything.

When her mother wanted to secure a quiet hour for herself on Sundays, she
used to give her "Fortune rose" to her little Veronica, and it was sure to
occupy the child for a long time in perfect contentment.

"Look, this is the way you must do," said the child, as she pulled with
her fingers a small strip of paper that stood out from the side of the
picture; suddenly before the astonished ey