Rose in Bloom by Louisa May Alcott

lazar-house, praying over the dead and dying. The contrast was a

strong one, and the girl’s eyes lingered longest on the knight,

though she said thoughtfully, “Yours is certainly the pleasantest

and yet I never heard of any good deed he did, except divide his

cloak with a beggar, while St. Francis gave himself to charity just

when life was most tempting and spent years working for God

without reward. He’s old and poor, and in a dreadful place, but I

won’t give him up, and you may have your gay St. Martin if you

want him.?

“No, thank you, saints are not in my line but I’d like the

golden-haired angel in the blue gown if you’ll let me have her. She

shall be my little Madonna, and I’ll pray to her like a good

Catholic,” answered Charlie, turning to the delicate, deep-eyed

figure with the lilies in its hand.

“With all my heart, and any others that you like. Choose some for

your mother and give them to her with my love.?

So Charlie sat down beside Rose to turn and talk over the pictures

for a long and pleasant hour. But when they went away to lunch, if

there had been anyone to observe so small but significant a trifle,

good St. Francis lay face downward behind the sofa, while gallant

St. Martin stood erect upon the chimneypiece.

Chapter 3 MISS CAMPBELL

While the travelers unpack their trunks, we will pick up, as briefly

as possible, the dropped stitches in the little romance we are

weaving.

Rose’s life had been a very busy and quiet one for the four years

following the May day when she made her choice. Study, exercise,

housework, and many wholesome pleasures kept her a happy,

hearty creature, yearly growing in womanly graces, yet always

preserving the innocent freshness girls lose so soon when too early

set upon the world’s stage and given a part to play.

Not a remarkably gifted girl in any way, and far from perfect; full

of all manner of youthful whims and fancies; a little spoiled by

much love; rather apt to think all lives as safe and sweet as her

own; and, when want or pain appealed to her, the tender heart

overflowed with a remorseful charity which gave of its abundance

recklessly. Yet, with all her human imperfections, the upright

nature of the child kept her desires climbing toward the just and

pure and true, as flowers struggle to the light; and the woman’s

soul was budding beautifully under the green leaves behind the

little thorns.

At seventeen, Dr. Alec pronounced her ready for the voyage

around the world, which he considered a better finishing off than

any school could give her. But just then Aunt Peace began to fail

and soon slipped quietly away to rejoin the lover she had waited

for so long. Youth seemed to come back in a mysterious way to

touch the dead face with lost loveliness, and all the romance of her

past to gather around her memory. Unlike most aged women, her

friends were among the young, and at her funeral the grayheads

gave place to the band of loving girls who made the sweet old

maiden ready for her rest, bore her pall, and covered her grave

with the white flowers she had never worn.

When this was over poor Aunt Plenty seemed so lost without her

lifelong charge that Dr. Alec would not leave her, and Rose gladly

paid the debt she owed by the tender service which comforts

without words. But Aunt Plenty, having lived for others all her

days, soon rebelled against this willing sacrifice, soon found

strength in her own sincere piety, solace in cheerful occupation,

and amusement in nursing Aunt Myra, who was a capital patient,

as she never died and never got well.

So at last the moment came when, with free minds, the travelers

could set out, and on Rose’s eighteenth birthday, with Uncle Alec

and the faithful Phebe, she sailed away to see and study the big,

beautiful world which lies ready for us all if we only know how to

use and enjoy it.

Phebe was set to studying music in the best schools, and while she