"This shall be for the place of honor," he murmured, as he lifted
her out of the large vase she lived in on to a trestle and
summoned his boys to bear her away. The very azaleas themselves
grew pale with envy.

As for the rose tree herself, she would not look at any one; she
was carried through the old garden straight past the Banksise, but
she would make them no sign; and as for the blackbird, she hoped a
cat had eaten him! Had he not known her as Rosa Damascena?

She was borne bodily, roots and all, carefully wrapped up in soft
matting, and taken into the great house.

It was a very great house, a very grand house, and there was to be
a marvelous feast in it, and a prince and princess from over the
seas were that night to honor the mistress of it by their
presence. All this Rosa Indica had gathered from the chatter of
the flowers, and when she came into the big palace she saw many
signs of excitement and confusion: servants out of livery were
running up against one another in their hurry-scurry; miles and
miles, it seemed, of crimson carpeting were being unrolled all
along the terrace and down the terrace steps, since by some
peculiar but general impression royal personages are supposed not
to like to walk upon anything else, though myself I think they
must get quite sick of red carpet, seeing so very much of it
spread for them wherever they go. To Rosa Indica, however, the
bright scarlet carpeting looked very handsome, and seemed, indeed,
a foretaste of heaven.