"And you, Rose Mary, are the bloom of every rose-bush
that I ever saw anywhere. You are, I verily believe, the only and
original Rose of the World."
"Oh, no," answered Rose Mary lifting her long lashes for a second's
glance at him; "I'm just the Rose of these Briars. Don't you know all
over the world women are blooming on lovely tall stems, where they
have planted themselves deep in home places and are drinking the
Master's love and courage from both sun and rain. But if we don't go
to rest some you'll wilt, Rambler, and I'll shatter. Be sure and take
the glass of cream I put by your bed. Good night and good dreams!"
CHAPTER III
AT THE COURT OF DAME NATURE
"Well, Rose Mary," said Uncle Tucker as he appeared in the doorway of
the milk-house and framed himself against an entrancing,
mist-wreathed, sun-up aspect of Sweetbriar with a stretch of
Providence Road winding away to the Nob and bending caressingly around
red-roofed Providence as it passed over the Ridge, "there are
forty-seven new babies out in the barn for you this morning. Better
come on over and see 'em!" Uncle Tucker's big eyes were bright with
excitement, his gray lavender muffler, which always formed a part of
his early morning costume, flew at loose ends, and a rampant, grizzly
lock stuck out through the slit in the old gray hat.
"Gracious me, Uncle Tuck, who now?" demanded Rose Mary over a crock
of milk she was expertly skimming with a thin, old, silver ladle.
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