Veronica

Be still be still said the woman. The childs mother was gone lost to the fierceness of the winter. I shall find something pretty for you presently; then you must sit down quietly and play with it and not go outside not one step do you hear? Pshaw! there is nothing but rubbish here! Well then give us the rose said the little girl still scowling. The woman looked about the room. There are no roses here she said. How should there be in March? she added half vexed at having looked for them. There said the child pointing towards a book that the woman had but a moment before replaced in the cup-board. Ah! now I know what you mean. So your mother always kept the rose the Fortune rose? I often envied her when she used to show it to us. . . .