The Globe-republican., 1899-12-21
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!; The Christmas Rose
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Il was Christmas eve. The air was
frosty. Mems boot heels made the
SNOW creak under them as they passed
with quick tread. There was rum
BE Of carriage wheels. rapid. hurry
ing tread of thousands Of feet in the
crowded thoroughfare of the great
city.
And amid all this Christmas activity
Philip Meredith walked with an acrid
and indefnable pain at his heart. He
was as strangely incongruous amid the
Joy. the color, the brilliancy of this
festival eve as skeleton at feast.
He made a strenuous effort to forget
He had told himself that the coming
Of this anniversary should not over
whelm him with that agony OF recol-
lection which he knew down in his in
Eermost soul he could not endure. For
days the approaching holiday had filed
him with an unacknowledged terror.
It was the first Christmas he had
spent without her, without Mirabel.
And, telling himself that he would for
get, that he would not remember. he
straightway remembered with the in
innate fidelity of pain all that could
wound him now.
A breath of fragrant air from out a
florists shop made him turn his head
for a moment, and as he looked he saw
forget-me-nots. The sight gave him .
pang. He recalled the morning they
had first met. It was morning in
spring, fresh with innocence-one Of
those mornings that yet dawn on the
world to evoke images of primordial
daybreaks when the world was young.
Her eyes were blue-blue like the for
get-me-nOts. Then, less than a year
later, they were wed, and the one
Christmas they had spent together
had seemed to him more exquisite in
its perfect happiness than the one on
the plains of Judea could have been to
the shepherds. Then came misery:
scarcely had the echo of the Christmas
bells died away in the air than that
fatal episode had occurred that had
parted them. 1t arose in trifle. as
most of the worlds misery and wars
have, and then before he knew it he
had said words that had made a gulf
between them which it seemed could
never be bridged. She said she would
20 away and battle with the world by
herself; he made brutal reply. Then
they parted.
Again the opulence of a florists shop
net his gaze A sudden resolution
came to him; he stepped up to the win
dow and specialized between orchids
and lilies.
''Ah. Philip. see you are choosing
my Christmas gift" said voice at his
elbow. He turned-it was his cousin,
a woman born to bring to others some
of the light and joy denied them in
their own poor lives. do not hesi-
tate So" she continued, laughing. You
know how easily am pleased in the
matter of flowers. Shut your eyes and
choose whatever you see first when
you open them, and it will suit me-"
1T will give me more pleasure to
suit your taste than to trust to a hap
hazard choice" he replied. Give me
your parcels, you look like Mrs. Santa
Claus, and come with me straight into
the shop and say what you will have.
I will see to it that the Christmas
saint wears a fOwery garland for
YOU"
"Oh, Philip" said the woman, her
eyes filing with soft mist, you are
always good and generous, and l will
let you give me a bunch Of those
American beauty roses-but not for
me. want to send them to the Wom-
ans hospital in the morning."
He purchased the roses. and they
separated at the door,
It was Christmas morning in st. Jo-
seph's hospital. There was faint an
tiseptic odor in the air. The long lines
Of narrow white cots stretched their
serried rows down the room in pitiless-
" quiet arraw. In one cot lay a wom-
an, who was q mystery to the hospital
ohicials. She had been brought in
late in the Afternoon of the day before
insensible. She was young and beau
tiful: her clothing was that of . gs0p
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