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Updated: May 19, 2025
"First young love, parting gift, Cousin Harry proves fickle, Aunt Linny banishes the Button-Rose from her window, takes to books, and educating naughty nieces, and doing good to everybody, 'bearing to live, as more heroic than 'daring to die, in ten years gets so that she can speak of it with composure, as a lesson to romantic girls. So?"
Cicely was kept away for fear of infection, but HER penance was to wander about the great house, more silent than ever now, to answer the inquiries and listen to the sad forebodings of the neighbors, who came to offer help and sympathy; for all loved little Button-Rose, and grieved to think of any blight falling on the pretty blossom.
For a while I stood still, in a kind of enchantment. Venturing, at length, a few steps forward, gazing eagerly from side to side, I was suddenly arrested by the most marvellously beautiful object my eyes had ever seen, no other than the little Button-Rose of our story! So small, so perfect! It filled my infant sense with its loveliness.
I sat for a time in silence, lost in a delicious, confused reverie. "The Button-Rose was a gift from him, then?" were my first words. "What, Kate?" said Aunt Linny, now opening her large blue eyes with a strange look. "Did you give away the flower-pot too? That was so pretty! Whom did you give it to?" "Incredible!" she exclaimed, coloring, and with the strongest expression of surprise.
As she spoke, Cicely bustled about the room, and soon had Rosy nicely settled with her best cologne-bottle and a fan; then she hastened down to report that something was wrong, with a fear in her own heart that if any harm did come to the child it would be her fault. Some days before Cicely had sent Button-Rose with a note to a friend's house where she knew some of the younger children were ill.
Nay, many an object of deep, absorbing interest, more than one glowing friendship, has meantime passed away, leaving no memorial but sad and bitter thoughts; while this wee flower still lives and makes glad a little green nook in my heart. It was a Button-Rose of the smallest species, the outspread blossom scarce exceeding in size a shilling-piece.
"Papa calls me his button-rose, 'cause I'm so small and pink and sweet, and thorny too sometimes," she said, looking up brightly, after a few moments of the fond and foolish cuddling all little creatures love and need so much when they leave the nest, and miss the brooding of motherly wings.
But, dear as the Button-Rose is to my memory, I should hardly think of obtruding it on the notice of others, were it not for a little tale of human interest connected with it. While I yet stood motionless in the ecstasy of my first wonder, a young man and woman entered the garden, chatting and laughing in a very lively manner.
For a week or two, Button-Rose hardly dared glance toward the forbidden spot from her window, as she was ordered to play in the front garden, and sent to take sober walks with Cicely, who loved to stop and gossip with her friends, while the poor child waited patiently till the long tales were told.
Dover escorted his guests to their own gate, to the great amazement of the neighbors and the very visible pride of Miss Button-Rose, who went up the walk with her head as high as if the wreath of daisies on her little hat had been a conqueror's crown. Now that the first step had been taken, all would have gone smoothly if Cicely, offended because Mr.
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