The little blossoms were out in full, and seemed to smile a benediction upon the old woman.

“Yes, yes, child, I will keep your rose; no harm shall come to it.”  The little plant seemed to carry her thoughts away, for she began talking absently to herself, then recalling her musings she said:—­“So you are going away; and you’ll forget all about poor Aunt Ruth with so many new friends.  Well, well, it’s natural.”

[Illustration:  “Yes, child, I will keep your rose.”]

“No, no, indeed I shall not,” said Bessie, giving her a hearty hug, “and sometime I will come to see you.”  They talked a long time, but at last, with a good-by kiss to Aunt Ruth, and to the pet rose, she was gone like a flitting sunbeam.

Then the shadows seemed to come back to the inmate of the old house; but as her glance fell upon the little flower, she began clearing a place for it to stand in the warmest corner, musing to herself the while:—­

“Just such roses I used to carry in my hand to the old stone church in Amsden when no bigger than Bessie.  It seems like yesterday, but ah! it is a long time.  Maybe if I could do like that again, it would not be so dark and lonesome like.  I think I’ll put the rose here by the south window, then if the child ever does come, she will see it from the gate.”

[Illustration:  “It never looked quite so dirty before.”]

Bringing a little pine stand, she carefully placed the plant upon it.  In doing so, she chanced to glance at the window.  “Bless me! it never looked quite so dirty before;” and Aunt Ruth moved with new life, as she cleansed, rinsed, and polished the glass.  But this being done, the old muslin curtain seemed dingier than common, shading the clear glass; so it was taken down, and another finer one unpacked from a drawer and put in its place.

The next morning, as she ate her lonely breakfast, she placed her chair to face the window and the rose.  The sun was shining, and as the rays streamed across the room to the opposite wall, she marked the cobwebs.  That day the cobwebs were swept down, the other window washed, and the floor cleaned.  The old house had not been so neat and cheery for many years.

Near the close of the week she went to the village, this time putting on a dark delaine, instead of the snuff calico with a yellow flower.  Somehow the gay dresses and curious glances did not disturb her as much as usual.  A pleasant recognition was passed with a neighbor whom she had not spoken to for a year.

A strange feeling had come over her,—­a feeling that she was one of the great human family after all, and the icy mountain of reserve began to thaw just a little.  Her purchases made, she concluded to take another road home.  This route lay past a church.  It was lighted, though early, and a few real worshipers had met to pray before the regular service.

They were singing now, and Aunt Ruth paused, as a clear, triumphant voice bore up the strain,—­