Activate Javascript or update your browser for the full Digital Library experience.
Next Page
OCR
Cupyriyllt, 19119, by [lurid 0. Cook Pubhshmp Company.
You. VIII. No. 24. i',;‘;‘,f-gf,‘-‘D
DAVID C. COOK PUBLISHING C0,, ELGIN, IL1.1xo1s, AND 36 W.as1n:x'c"rox S1-., Cnrcaao.
June 12, 1909.
HE lovely old-fashioned garden lay
twinkling in the early morning light
the sun lifted his rotund face"
over the distant Natic Hills: here and
there on rt patch of sward a spider's web
glisteued white against the green; the
sweet moss-pinks spread a delicate pink
carpet over large areas, their tiny blossoms
lsparkling with the lieavr dew, and clumps
of gorgeous red and white peonies lifted
ronnd,.fnll-blown heads to greet the new-
born day, the day that was to be their last,
for by nightfall they would lie scattered
on the ground, little heaps of faded petnls.
lut amid all the June-time beauty the
rose were supreme, filling the soft morn-
ing air with their sweet perfume: bushes
of deep yellow roses were massed tliit-kly
in one corner of the garden: up the side of
the old-fashioned house which dunked an
end of the garden climbed great sprays of
slnnlod pink prairie roses loaded with open-
'ing buds; and scattered throughout the
lietlge-enclosed plot were buslies of white
roses, and pink roses, and yellow ro rs,
until the whole garden seemed brenlung
into an elysium of roseate beauty and per-
fume.
llelcn Craven opened the swinging gate
and stepped into the garden, then she
stopped abruptly and drew a long breath
of delight. ’
" Oh!" she said softly.
“Oh, what a lot of pleasure grand-
mother znve to her children when she
plnnted her garden!” she added.
Tlien the ;:irl's bright face went sudden-
ly sober. ' '
" I cannot seem to hear leaving it all !"
she cried out, thrusting out her hands with
a quick gesture of hopelessness.
“ I cannot hear to think of leaving it nll!
The old house, and the garden, and gr.'iml-
mother's roses! And yet father fears it.
The morning wind blew softly among
the bnslms, and a shower of glistening dew-
drops fell to the ground from every shrub:
it stirred lightly IIelen's hair and roused
the girl from her misery.
“ If only I could think of some way of
helping: father!" shelcried. IIer young
ln-nrt filled with a. lending to share her
fntlit-r‘s burdens. “ IIe's discouraged.
Tiines are hard, and-well. he's nlwnys fear-
in:: ht-'ll h.-ire to sell the place." Ilelen did
not understand the details of her father's
business, but she knew the burdens of the
year were heavy on him. “So now," she
said, standing there among the roses, "if
I could only make him feel that there was
sonn-one helping: push!"
The half-opened buds of snoxwwhite
roses by her side nodded their heads to
Helen, and the girl noticing, gasped.
“ Do you mean that you would help me,
you dear white roscbudsft" she said.
The gentle morning breeze stirred the air
again, and the rosebuds gracefully bent
their lovely heads.
“Grandmother's roses will help! They
long to help us! People pay money for
roses, I know, and they shall pay money
for grandmother's beautiful roses!" -
A woman put her head out of the upper
window of the house and saw the girl
standing there in the midst of the lovely
old-fashioned garden. ,
“llelcn Craven!" she called, and her
voice broke harshly through the soft Jnnc
shook herself slightly and looked
up with a bright smile.
"Coming, Mehala!" she replied.
“Gardens nin't made for dreamin’ in!"
said the woman.
II:-Inn's bright face went instantly sober,
but she made quick answer.
“Perhaps it‘s dreaming in grandmother‘:
3'5
THE tosisl
l .
garden that's going to win theidny-who
owsl"
Mehala Bates shook her head: she was
a tall, gaunt woman of some sixty years,
and had taken charge of the Craven home
since Mrs. raven died. To Ielen,
Mehala was all ‘the mother the girl had
ever known, and she loved the woman with
all the intensity of her ndectionnte heart.
“ Come into the house and set the table
for breakfast. child," said Mahala from
her upper window.
“ Coming!” dashed back the girl. But
first she bent over the white roscbuds
for a moment and spoke softly to them,
"All together we'll help keep father's
courage up-we will!” she said. And the
roses gave of their sweet perfume in silent
2
m
sent.
“Mehala, the roses want to help--I
want to help, tooshelp father, you know."
The woman looked up from the bacon
she was trying for breakfast and said: '
“ What are you at, Ilelen?"
“I want to sell the roses and have
money to encourage father with, Lots of
! HOLMES
.3
W
xi-=.7.=.-.5...
" I
people buy roses not half as fine as ours.”
“Where he the folks?’ asked Mahala.
“That's what I haven’t thought out
yet, just how to find the people that want
the flowers."
“That”s one trouble in this world: folks
don’t poke around until they hnd the folks
an‘ the things that go ’longsidc! It don't
seem quite in reason to me that them roses
your grandmother (‘raven planted when
she first come here a bride, are worth much
in money, but if you was smart enough
to put two an‘ two together, I-"
Ilelen interrupted her quickly.
“You wi help me nfler breakfast,
won't you, lilehala? And we'll help father.
He just needs someone to stand by him.
There are some splendid buds ready to
open. “'e’ll lill as many baskets as We
can, and drive in with them. And I know
how to pack them. I learned that of Aunt
Mary."
Mehala set the frying-pan over the fire
again and spoke with vigor:
“If you’re bound to do something with
them flowers, it won't be me as stands in
your way. Flowers bring money, that's
There ain't :1 bit of harm in trying.
As you say, there ought to be someone
pushing on this place besides your father."
But during the five-mile drive to the
city, Helen lost some of her courage, and
so did Mehala, though this Helen did not
The woman holding the lines sat
of harboring doubts, yet
wondering where “the child," as she al-
ways thonght of Helen, was to find the
right one for their precious load.
But when they had reached the f1orist's
they had decided upon, both occupants
braced themselves for the encounter.
“ I have fresh garden roses." Ilelen said,
looking in the florist’s face appealingly.
The fiorist looked ncrss the pavement
to the Q3.l‘l')‘11ll, but the rose baskets were
carefully protected from the sun. Ile
stepped across and lifted the canvas. then
he nodded his head approvingly. “They
are fine roses, Miss."
‘.‘X'es," said Helen. "They are from
my ;zrandmother's gartlt-n.”
“ I'm sorry, but I 1111] full to-day‘ But
maybe%’’ he stopped and looked up the
road. “Come in. I'll tell you where to
take the roses."
A moment later he came back from
his desk and placed a card in IIelen's hand.
“There, that young lady is the one who
will buy your flowers, if anyone buys them
to-day. She is great on old-fashioned roses.
I often keep mine out for her. She‘s taken
a.good deal from us‘ To-morrow is Rose
Sunday,“-and shefis hclpin: somewhere. I
think she'll’ take yours. t'a the Cumber-
land place. ,Yon will find Jreasy."
“Oh, yei,“I‘knoxv‘Col::rivl Cumberland‘:
place," said Ilelon, gratefully. and her
heart sang for pludliws. llut she stopped
to say to the ilori.
“ “'ill you he so kind, Mr. Saunders, as
to tell me what you think those Ilowersare
worth 7"
The florist stepped to the carriage and
raising the canvas made a careful esti-
mate of the baskets.
"“'ell. you ouglit to get ten dollars for
them. You're pm-kml them well, and they
are in fine condition."
With courteous thnnl-rs Ilelen got up be-
side Mehala. and they drove to Colonel
Cumberl:1nd'r4. The big: brick house looked
slightly forbidding to Helen.
“ Do you sup ose Illiss Cumberland will
want them, Meli:iln'."’ she asked.
Then the bit from door swung open and
Alice Cumberland ran down the stone steps
to meet them:
“Mr. Saunders just telephoned that he
had sent you over to me, and how lovely
your roses were!" she said, and it seemed
to Helen that she had never seen anyone
more lovely than this slight young woman
in white.
Mehala drew back the covering from the
roses. ,
“Oh !" said Alice Cumberland, as she
bent her fair head above them.
IIelen's eyes grew big, and she went
close to Alice.
“You love roses. You love them some-
thing as I do," she said softly.
“Yes. dear, I love them," replied the
older girl.
from the tips of my tons to the crown of‘
my head. I am helping the girls down a
the mission for Rose Sunday to-morrou
They're come just in the nick of tini
dear." " ‘
When the roses were resting on,‘ the
dining-room table, Alice Cumberland -I
stepped back and surveyed them with de-
light. -
“ You are an nngt-l in disguise," she said,
“I am filled with love for them , '
41.‘... .e......I.
