my way."

"Well, cousin, if our heavenly Father gave to us after this mode, we
should have only coarse, shapeless piles of provisions lying about the
world, instead of all this beautiful variety of trees, and fruits, and
flowers."

"Well, well, cousin, I suppose you are right--but have mercy on my poor
head; it is too small to hold so many new ideas all at once--so go on
your own way." And the little lady began practising a waltzing step
before the glass with great satisfaction.

* * * * *

It was a very small room, lighted by only one window. There was no
carpet on the floor; there was a clean, but coarsely-covered bed in one
corner; a cupboard, with a few dishes and plates, in the other; a chest
of drawers; and before the window stood a small cherry stand, quite new,
and, indeed, it was the only article in the room that seemed so.

A pale, sickly-looking woman of about forty was leaning back in her
rocking chair, her eyes closed and her lips compressed as if in pain.
She rocked backward and forward a few minutes, pressed her hand hard
upon her eyes, and then languidly resumed her fine stitching, on which
she had been busy since morning. The door opened, and a slender little
girl of about twelve years of age entered, her large blue eyes dilated
and radiant with delight as she bore in the vase with the rose tree in
it.

"O, see, mother, see! Here is one in full bloom, and two more half out,
and ever so many more pretty buds peeping out of the green leaves."

The poor woman's face brightened as she looked, first on the rose and
then on her sickly child, on whose face she had not seen so bright a
color for months.

"God bless her!" she exclaimed, unconsciously.

"Miss Florence--yes, I knew you would feel so, mother. Does it not make
your head feel better to see such a beautiful flower? Now, you will not
look so longingly at the flowers in the market, for we have a rose that
is handsomer than any of them. Why, it seems to me it is worth as much
to us as our whole little garden used to be. Only see how many buds
there are! Just count them, and only smell the flower! Now, where shall
we set it up?" And Mary skipped about, placing her flower first in one
position and then in another, and walking off to see the effect, till
her mother gently reminded her that the rose tree could not preserve its
beauty without sunlight.

"O, yes, truly," said Mary; "well, then, it must stand here on o