tances,
and so they actually were. The artist who had sketched the rosebush and
the ruins of the cottage had since then received permission to
transplant the bush and had given it to the architect, for more
beautiful roses had never been seen. The architect had planted it on the
grave of Thorwaldsen, where it continued to bloom, the image of _the
beautiful_, scattering its fragrant, rosy leaves to be gathered and
carried away into distant lands in memory of the spot on which they
fell.

"Have you obtained a situation in town?" then asked the sparrows of the
roses.

The roses nodded. They recognized their little brown neighbors and were
rejoiced to see them again.

"It is very delightful," said the roses, "to live here and to blossom,
to meet old friends, and to see cheerful faces every day. It is as if
each day were a holiday."

"Tweet," said the sparrows to each other. "Yes, these really are our old
neighbors. We remember their origin near the pond. Tweet! how they have
risen, to be sure. Some people seem to get on while they are asleep. Ah!
there's a withered leaf. I can see it quite plainly."

And they pecked at the leaf till it fell, but the rosebush continued
fresher and greener than ever. The roses bloomed in the sunshine on
Thorwaldsen's grave and thus became linked with his immortal name.

[Illustration]

THE OLD HOUSE

A VERY old house once stood in a street with several others that were
quite new and clean. One could read the date of its erection, which had
been carved on one of the beams and surrounded by scrolls formed of
tulips and hop tendrils; by this date it could be seen that the old
house was nearly three hundred years old. Entire verses too were written
over the windows in old-fashioned letters, and grotesque faces,
curiously carved, grinned at you from under the cornices. One story
projected a long way over the other, and under the roof ran a leaden
gutter with a dragon's head at the end. The rain was intended to pour
out at the dragon's mouth, but it ran out of his body instead, for there
was a hole in the gutter.

All the other houses in the street were new and well built, with large
windowpanes and smooth walls. Any one might see they had nothing to do
with the old house. Perhaps they thought: "How long will that heap of
rubbish remain here, to be a disgrace to the whole street? The parapet
projects so far forward that no one can see out of our windows what is
going on i