Dr. Pendleton's. It
wasn't a common magenta pink, it was as clear, pretty a pink as that
La France rose. Well, I saw 'em that fall for the first time and the
last. The next year there wasn't any, and when I asked where they'd
gone to, nobody could tell anything about 'em. And ever since then
I've been searchin' in every old gyarden in the county, but I've never
found 'em, and I don't reckon I ever will.

"And there's my roses! Just look at 'em! Every color a rose could be,
and pretty near every kind there is. Wouldn't you think I'd be
satisfied? But there's a rose I lost sixty years ago, and the
ricollection o' that rose keeps me from bein' satisfied with all I've
got. It grew in Old Lady Elrod's gyarden and nowhere else, and there
ain't a rose here except grandmother's that I wouldn't give up forever
if I could jest find that rose again.

"I've tried many a time to tell folks about that rose, but I can't
somehow get hold of the words. I reckon an old woman like me, with
little or no learnin', couldn't be expected to tell how that rose
looked, any more'n she could be expected to draw it and paint it. I
can say it was yeller, but that word 'yeller' don't tell the color the
rose was. I've got all the shades of yeller in my garden, but nothin'
like the color o' that rose. It got deeper and deeper towards the
middle, and lookin' at one of them roses half-opened was like lookin'
down into a gold mine. The leaves crinkled and curled back towards the
stem as fast as it opened, and the more it opened the prettier it was,
like some women that grow better lookin' the older they grow,--Mary
Andrews was one o'that kind,--and when it comes to tellin' you how it
smelt, I'll jest have to stop. There never was anything like it for
sweetness, and it was a different sweetness from any other rose God
ever made.

"I ricollect seein' Miss Penelope come in church one Sunday, dressed
in white, with a black velvet gyirdle 'round her waist, and a bunch o'
these roses, buds and half-blown ones and full-blown ones, fastened in
the gyirdle, and that bunch o' yeller roses was song and sermon and
prayer to me that day. I couldn't take my eyes off 'em; and I thought
that if Christ had seen that rose growin' in the fields around
Palestine, he wouldn't 'a' mentioned lilies when he said Solomon in
all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.

"I always intended to ask for a slip of it, but I waited too long. It
got lost one winter, and when I a