The Western advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1872-1874, 1874-07-04


Towers.
"Your roses have given such pleasure
at the Wood cottage" said Mr.. Hunt one
day, that must ask you for few more ::
white this time. Farmer NAYS only
child, a little girl of five, has died sud
denly of Group, and want some flowers
to put around her.
Let me make wreath" said Clara,
eagerly. II know the way, and 1 could
take it to the farm this evening. [ re
member the pretty little girl who used to
parents!'
"Thcy are heartbroken," said Mr..
Hunt" and yet little sympathy COM
forts them"
So in the light of the evening Miss
Marchant went up to the farm house
laden with white blossoms, a rosebud
wreath crowning her basket.
go up, will you?" said the sobbing
farm girl. And CLARA went up the stairs
into the room where the child lay.
The father and mother, plain country
people, looked up on her entrance and
tried to thank her
" She was all we had," said the mother,
plaintivcly.
Clara stopped and kissed the pretty,
white face, and laid the rose-wreath over
her fair hair.
Il am SO sorry for your was all she
could find to say, but it was quite
enough; and then she sat down and
heard from poor Mrs. May the sad, Oft
repeated tale of the sudden illness and it's
fatal ending
Miss Marchant's name was beloved at
the farm from that sad evening
The time of roses was drawing to a
close when MI. Hunt and Miss Marchant
next met in her pretty garden.
"You must exhibit at Millfield flower
show next Saturday," said Mr.. Hunt,
pausing by a standard rose. "This bud
will bc perfect then, judging by the open
flower near"
THAT bud will be gen." said Clara,
decidedly; "but it shall not 90 to that
dirty, smoky Millfeld; have promised
it to young Lawrence; it is the new rose,
you know, and he was a rose -fancier in
his day, poor fellow"
Cant you make it answer both Dur.
p0ses?" said Mr. Hunt. "Send it to the
show, where it will certainly take the
first prize, and then give it him.
Il must ask his leave" said Clara.
But why should I patronize the Millfield
show?"
because it is your duty" said Mr..
Hunt; "you are one of the great folks
round, and you should encourage the
Millfield folk in such wholesome recrc-
alton as gardening"
"Are you going?" asked Clara.
Certainly! 1 shall drive my wife
over"
."'Then letme take some Of your children
with me-"
"No, thank you; children worry you,"
said Mr.. Hunt, laughing. II am too
proud to let mine be in your way"
"Nonsense " said Clara, blushing;
good children don't worry me-"
"You shall have Mrs. Hunt and Laura,
then, the two well.bchaved oncs," said
Mr. Hunt; land I will take my riotous
boys"
So Miss Marchant went to the Mill
field show and won the first rose prize,
and came home full of resolve to stir
up the Barton people to rival Millfield
next year. Her roses were certainly
drawing her nearer to her neighbors, and
daily involving a visit to one or another.
Poor young Lawrence had the prize
rose in glass in his bedroom for many
a day after the show; he liked it all the
better that it had been to smoky Mill
field, where his best days were passed
The last rose of the year, sickly-
looking bud was gathered by Clara and
placed in his dead hand as he lay at last
free from suffering in the cottage room.
Il shall bless you all my life,' said the
poor, weary mother "If ever any one
soothed dying mans path to the grave,
you did"
With little Mary May and Oliver Law
renee in the churchyard, Miss Marchant
felt she had an interest there Mr.. Hunt
was willing to assist her in her plan of
making it the garden of the village, and
| many one came to her to ask her advice
how to make the last home of wife or
child, parent or friend, more beautiful.
And not by her flowers only did Clara
Marchant win her way to the hearts of
her poor neighbors; she had kind words
for all. Barton was no longer dull, and
she had made the discovery that there
was more than smoke in Millfield
! From the millpeople she came to know
the millowners, and certain pleasant
Mr.. Thornbury, Of large possessions in
the place, was lucky enough to attract
the interest of Miss Marchant. In the
ensuing summer he often wore one of her
rosebuds in his button-hole, and before
winter Miss Marchant became Mrs.
Thornbury. She was to live at Barton
still, however; her father needed her and
her poor people could not spare her, even
if she could leave her roses.