And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song.
"Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."
And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride.
I'm just a little nervous." Rose began to cry afresh.
What's there to be nervous about?" Rose's answer was stifled sobbing.
Rose hastened to prepare the meal, finding it more difficult to be cheerful as she realized how indifferent Martin was to her feelings, if only she presented a smooth surface.
"I've heard of phebe-birds; but I don't believe the real ones could do that," laughed Rose, adding, as she watched with interest the scattering of dabs of soft soap over the bricks, "May I stay and see you work?
"Yes, indeed, if you want to," answered Phebe, wringing out her cloth in a capable sort of way that impressed Rose very much.
I'd love to do it, only aunt wouldn't like it, I suppose," said Rose, quite taken with the new employment.
'It is,' replied Rose, 'that you must endeavour to forget me; not as your old and dearly-attached companion, for that would wound me deeply; but, as the object of your love.
There was a pause, during which, Rose, who had covered her face with one hand, gave free vent to her tears.
'And your reasons, Rose,' he said, at length, in a low voice;