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Updated: June 1, 2025
Her words were addressed to Rosebud, who was standing by with a handful of bandages. The girl made no reply, and her eyes were fixed on this result of her escapade. She was pale, and her young face looked drawn. The violet of her eyes was noticeably dull, and it was easy to see that she was struggling hard to keep tears back. She simply could not answer. Seth took the task upon himself.
Secure from the sneers and scornful glances of the world, alone in Nance's cottage, her heart awoke afresh to the interests of life. Her baby boy was bright and strong, and she watched with delight his growing likeness to Cardo; the black hair, the black eyes, and the curve on the rosebud mouth, which reminded her so much of his smile.
I asked with respectful interest, addressing the question to Mrs. Smith, who gave promise of being a more serious reviewer than the flippant Phoebe. Mrs. Smith took a bite of gingerbread and began: "It's about a fair, beautiful young girl by the name of Rosebud Arden. Her pa was a judge, and they lived in a grand mansion in South Car'lina.
If we had started a "Lily" or a "Rosebud" and remained in the region of sentiment, we should have been eulogized to the skies, but here is something dangerous. Instead of Mr. Train's securing writers and subscribers in Europe, he was arrested for complicity with the Fenians the moment he made his first speech, and spent the year in a Dublin jail.
Little Celia, whom I call the rosebud, had climbed up my knees, a favorite station with her, and was begging me to tell her another pretty story. I had before told her so many, that I had exhausted both my memory and my imagination. Lucilla was smiling at my impoverished invention, when Lady Belfield was called out of the room. Her fair friend rose mechanically to follow her.
In that moment, when she looked the length of her spacious hall, the whole world took on a gladness unsurpassed. True, the door was open and the blizzard battled in and flung its snowflakes to her very feet; but across the doorway was a human body Tessibel Skinner, and at her side, a rosebud face from which the blanket had fallen. Mrs. Waldstricker gave a glad cry and sprang forward.
Dangerously, because it is at all times dangerous to live adjacent to woods when so near such a restless race as the Indians on the Rosebud and the Pine Ridge Reservations. Still, it has stood there so long, and yet bears no sign of hostile action directed against it by the warlike Sioux, that it seems safe to reckon it will continue to stand there in peace until decay finishes it off.
The painter turned away from the dames of Goya, clad in white cambric, with their rosebud mouths and with their hair done up like a turban, to concentrate his attention on a nude figure, the luminous gleam of whose flesh seemed to throw the adjacent canvases in a shadow. He contemplated it closely for a long time, bending over the railing till the brim of his hat almost touched the canvas.
Instead of being in the foothills as he had supposed, he was penetrating the fastnesses of the Rosebud Mountains themselves. "There is no use in my going on like this," he decided finally. "I'll sit down and wait for daylight. That's all I can do. I surely can find my way back to camp when the light comes again."
Rube nodded patronizingly, but he seemed a little uncomfortable under his wife's stare of amazement. "But," he added, in a tone meant to clinch the argument, "she ain't 'Rosebud' no longer." "Rubbish an' stuff! She's 'Rosebud' jest 'Rosebud. An' 'dearest Rosebud' at that, an' so I've got it," Ma said, hurriedly writing the words as she spoke.
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