It won't be very
much out of our way, and then you can tell just how they'll look. You
know Mrs. Jocelyn, don't you?"

Colonel Gresham nodded gravely.

"Then you won't mind going to see her roses, shall you?" Polly
chattered on. "She has a big rose garden at the side of the house,
lots of beautiful ones; but I 'most know you'll like the Silver Moon
kind best."

"I don't believe I like any kind of roses," the Colonel broke out
abruptly. "They have too many thorns. Somebody would always be getting
scratched if they were on my piazza. I reckon I won't have them, after
all."

Polly started to speak, looked up, and then shut her lips on the
words. The stern set of her companion's face forbade talk. Yet in a
moment it softened, the words came again, and this time they were not
forced back.

"Roses are so beautiful, and the thorns are so little I forget about
them." She halted, but the Colonel did not respond.

"Once when I was a very small girl," she went on, "I picked a rose in
our yard, and scratched my hand so it bled. I ran, crying, to mamma;
but she didn't pay any attention to that, only told me to look at the
rose. It was a lovely tea rose, the color of sunset when the sky is
all yellow with just a bit of a pink flush. She talked about it, till
I forgot my finger. When I happened to recollect, the hurt seemed so
little compared with that beautiful rose. I guess that's why I don't
mind thorns any more. I've always remembered it."

"A good thing to remember," spoke out Colonel Gresham fervently, "and
a blessed thing to live up to--if only we could! But some thorns
pierce deep!"

He did not look at Polly. One might have thought him talking to Lone
Star, for his eyes were on the horse's head.

"Yes, some are bigger than others," Polly replied innocently. "They
hurt more. But Silver Moon doesn't have very many. Oh," she cried
earnestly, thinking of the rose, "I do wish you could see those of
Mrs. Jocelyn's! Isn't it funny," she went on musingly, "how she always
calls you David, just as if you were one of her very best friends!
Only very best friends call each other by their first names, do they?
I mean grown-up people. I guess she thinks a lot of you. Sometimes her
eyes--you know what dark, shiny eyes she has--well, sometimes when
she's talking about you they get so bright and soft, they're just
beautiful! I think she is a lovely lady, don't you?"

"I presume she is, from what I hear," replied the Colonel. "I