"You'll keep them, Rose Mary. You could keep anything you--you really
wanted," said Everett in a guardedly comforting voice. "And what are
Mr. Alloway and Stonie in your flower garden?" he asked in a bantering
tone.

"Oh, Uncle Tucker is the briar rose hedge all around the place, and
Stonie is all the young shoots that I'm trying to prune and train up
just like him," answered Rose Mary with a quick laugh. "You're my
new-fashioned crimson-rambler from out over the Ridge that I'm trying
to make grow in my garden," she added, with a little hint of both
audacity and tenderness in her voice.

"I'm rooted all right," answered Everett quickly, as he blew a puff of
smoke at her. "And you, Rose Mary, are the bloom of every rose-bush
that I ever saw anywhere. You are, I verily believe, the only and
original Rose of the World."

"Oh, no," answered Rose Mary lifting her long lashes for a second's
glance at him; "I'm just the Rose of these Briars. Don't you know all
over the world women are blooming on lovely tall stems, where they
have planted themselves deep in home places and are drinking the
Master's love and courage from both sun and rain. But if we don't go
to rest some you'll wilt, Rambler, and I'll shatter. Be sure and take
the glass of cream I put by your bed. Good night and good dreams!"




CHAPTER III