Waterbury evening Democrat., 1906-07-26
Love Ar,or,o The Roses
Copyright. by Joseph B. Bowles.)
By HERBERT HOLT


 windows; rich red clusters creeping along the messy garden wall; and bush-roses more modest, hiding away in nook and cranny.
 In the garden first saw her. She moved amongst the roses tall and fair, the spirit of the flowers She was wearing dress all white. which fell in gracious folds about her, giving a touch of dignity to the girlish figure. One hand held basket, and with . pair of scissors she was busily snip ping of dead leaves and tending, al- most caressingly.- the newly-opened buds of her favorite flowers.
 You love roses" said, involun. tarily.
 I Yes, love them. I could not live without them" Her smile robbed the remark of extravaganza. 1 You see," she continued, raising her eyes to my face, T have lived in the country all my life, and my flow CTS are almost my sole companions"
 "Inarticulate. and for that reason , desirable"
 "Oh. nc" she said, gaily, "the flow. CTS have language of their own, al- though we gross mortals fail to un- derstand 1t. Do you see that tall fel- low bending down to exchange conf dences with his companion?"
 "A clear representation" I answered 1 gravely. "of Love among the roses.' !" I puffed at my cigarette, watching her delft fingers moving amongst the cool, green leaves. And yet" said I. presently, life has compensations, even for the ab- sence of flowers"
 She shook her head wisely.
 "The things that men strive for are they equal to these? have heard that life is full of disappointments, but there are no disappointments in Nature. doubt the value of your compensations, MT. Durnford." Some things" I returned, quietly, "do not disappoint. Friendship, love-"
 Then I am thrice blessed" she said, quickly, flor have my roses for companions. you for a friend and mother to love. There, I have finished, so we will not keep her waiting any longer for tea"
 Her mother was a sweet-faced wom. an with low voice. and settled look of sorrow in her tired eyes, Life had given her of it's best, but stern Death, in taking the husband, dearly loved, had broken for her the handspring of existence. Her daughter remained, the only root that held her to the earth.
 Tea and quiet conversation followed "a revelation to the homeless man. weary of the society of men and hun. gry for womanly ministrations and the touch of soft, caressing hands.
 Then out into the rose garden again. An elfin spirit possessed her. "She must give me one of her favorite flow CTS for my button-hole." She fitted from tree to tree, smiling back at me with innocent witchery.
 This bud was much too large; that one was far too small. and beside, not at all suitable for my complexion" Finally she selected one and pinned 1t to my coat. q have 1t still.) In doing so she saw my face.
 How very solemn we look this even- ing"
 q am beginning to realize that hap piness has its price"
 Does that account for your gloom, MT. Durnford?"
 "I have been very happy here"
 'Yes?" The tone was questioning.
 And now" said. quietly. 'my work here is finished. must go back to New York"
 Her face twitched, and she turned | away for a moment and bent over a flower. When she looked at me again | she had regained her composure and | spoke gently.
 q am glad you have enjoyed your visit.' she said.
 I began impulsively:
 "1f." I said. if" and then I | stopped. A vision of two dingy rooms in a little street rose before my eyes. Dare say any tenderly-nurtured | woman to share with me the hopeless struggle for existence In q great city! | cltnched my teeth and was silent.
 Shall see you again before you go." she asked
 "No. think not" I said, steadily. Tn fact. came round this afternoon for the purpose of saying good-by." could not look at her as I spoke.
 ''Good-by." she said. monotonousiy, IS one repeating a lesson.
 took her hand in mine: she seemed turned to marble.
 Some day you will perhaps under. stand. and in understanding. pity me" raised her hand to my lips.
 Three years later. and a hot. stuYy in midJune. I walked from ny rooms near the park. thinking ieeply of a critical article I vas writ ng
 I started. and for an instant my ,eart stopped beating. and then vent n at racing speed. She came to- yards me along the sunlif path as 1t refe. out of the land of dreams. She vas grayer and more vonaniy than f old. and walked slowly and with Iovnczst eyes Two children were rith her. their shril1 trebles reaching ne while yet . long way of.
 Crs rootsf m srA r.-