stalk, but soon after she was surer that it was a little
bed of pansies, or "Johnny-jump-ups," which turned all their bright
little faces to the sun, like a family of newly-washed and
clean-aproned children just starting for school. Soon, however, she
was surest that it was a patch of mignonette under the pear tree,
which, though it looked so plain and humble with its little bits of
blossoms, was pouring out the richest perfume.

"Oh, it is you, is it?" said little Rose. "Mamma read to us yesterday
that perfume was the soul of flowers. I guess you have got the biggest
soul of them all, if you are so little."

Pretty soon Rose began to think of something more substantial than
bird-songs, sunbeams and flowers. There were very nice raspberries,
red and ripe, over beyond the currant-bushes, and her mamma allowed
her to pick them in that part of the garden, for she knew how
delightful it is for little folks to eat their fruit just where they
pick it from the bushes.

Little Rose went around into the lower walk, where she could see the
raspberries. A good many had ripened over-night, and hung on the long,
waving stems, waiting to be picked.

There was a short way to them, right across between two great
branching currant-bushes. She saw it was guarded by long briar-stalks
with sharp thorns all along their sides, but it was so much nearer
than to go around the long row of currants. "Mamma says we must not be
afraid of trials and discouragements in our way," Rose said. She was
very fond of quoting things she heard said or read, and applying them
to her own experience.

"I guess I can get through. Little girls must be brave!" And she
pushed boldly into the middle of the space between the bushes. But
there she caught fast, and could not go a step farther. One great,
strong branch of thorns was stretched across her foot, the sharp
points sticking fast in her stocking, and hurting her flesh cruelly if
she tried to move it. Another one caught hold of her little
garden-shawl and pulled it away back off her shoulders. She pulled and
twitched with all her might, but could not get it loose. On the other
side her little bare elbow was torn and bleeding from a scratch, while
her dress was held as fast as if a hundred invisible hands were
pulling at it. There she was. She could not get on nor back. There was
nothing to be done but to call for her mother. This she did so loudly
that everybody in the house came rushing to see what was t