ur new
stand. How glad I am that we have such a handsome new stand for it! it
will look so much better." And Mrs. Stephens laid down her work, and
folded a piece of newspaper, on which the treasure was duly deposited.

"There," said Mary, watching the arrangement eagerly, "that will do--no,
for it does not show both the opening buds; a little farther around--a
little more; there, that is right;" and then Mary walked around to view
the rose in various positions, after which she urged her mother to go
with her to the outside, and see how it looked there. "How kind it was
in Miss Florence to think of giving this to us!" said Mary; "though she
had done so much for us, and given us so many things, yet this seems the
best of all, because it seems as if she thought of us, and knew just how
we felt; and so few do that, you know, mother."

What a bright afternoon that little gift made in that little room! How
much faster Mary's fingers flew the livelong day as she sat sewing by
her mother! and Mrs. Stephens, in the happiness of her child, almost
forgot that she had a headache, and thought, as she sipped her evening
cup of tea, that she felt stronger than she had done for some time.

That rose! its sweet influence died not with the first day. Through all
the long, cold winter, the watching, tending, cherishing that flower
awakened a thousand pleasant trains of thought, that beguiled the
sameness and weariness of their life. Every day the fair, growing thing
put forth some fresh beauty--a leaf, a bud, a new shoot, and constantly
awakened fresh enjoyment in its possessors. As it stood in the window,
the passer by would sometimes stop and gaze, attracted by its beauty,
and then proud and happy was Mary; nor did even the serious and
care-worn widow notice with indifference this tribute to the beauty of
their favorite.

But little did Florence think, when she bestowed the gift, that there
twined about it an invisible thread that reached far and brightly into
the web of her destiny.

One cold afternoon in early spring, a tall and graceful gentleman called
at the lowly room to pay for the making of some linen by the inmates. He
was a stranger and wayfarer, recommended through the charity of some of
Mrs. Stephens's patrons. As he turned to go, his eye rested admiringly
on the rose tree; and he stopped to gaze at it.

"How beautiful!" said he.

"Yes," said little Mary; "and it was given to us by a lady as sweet and
beautiful as th