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[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED." A CHRISTMAS ROSE. Dr ADELINE SERGEANT, A^or of Jacobi's Wife," Roy's Repen- tluce; #Tjllderralse Pretences," "The Great Mill-street Mystery," &c., &ot 'ALL nIGHTS RESEBVED.J Underwood Pariah, but foi some time n was a sort of no man's land, nominally in Ottley district, bat under no one's charge. When the railway which passes Ottley and Under- wood was first undertaken, a number of men- navvies and other rough woi-kmen-isettled themselves for a time in a row of huts near the line. The work came to an end, but a tenant of the wo-lcers-the most disordetly and disreputable of the men—stayed behind, and, with wives and children, founded a little colony of their own, which wa« for many years looked on with Bixspioitm an distrust by the more respectable inl?a'b,J*8 of Underwood. And not without reason, for the dwellers in Penton Green were not only disorderly and evil-living people them- solves, but they formed a sort of country Alsatia or sanctuary for their still more dis- overly friends. Many a London thief, when Pursued by the police, sought refuge at ienton Green and it was some time before the polios found out the character of the place and looked therein for criminals. It certainly had a squalid look, and a large proportion ot pubuc- kouses; but, embowered in green, nestling in a quiet valley, 011 the borders of a peaoetu P'ti stveam, the hamlet might possibly have. been e gentlest and happiest of places, Instead of a resort for all the bad characters of the neighbourhood and a well-known rendezvous for London criminals. „ I Mr. Brierley, who was a small contractor, land agent, and retired shopkeeper, ran up a ow of small red houses, mean and ugiy in appearance, for the use of the qnarrymen and railwayman who, after a time, began to live Ienton ("reen but bis buildings improved Neither the appearance nor the morale of the place. They were badly built and badly drained, and illness was", therefore, of very Sequent occurrence at one or other of the houses in Paradise-row. Ultra was veiy I'ttle of "Paradise" about it, beyoud the llallie. The buildings were close to the pave- ment: no little garden fronted them, and there was but a strip of ground behind. Each house contained four rooms-a front room and a back kitohen, and two tiny bedrooms above these. Every fault that a cottage could have was possessed by each of IT woodworf' wasrhwarper?he TS« "ere unevenlv ldid; the water generally often thiok with slime. It was a that the Pen ton Green people did no't com Plain, but they were used to hardships, thought, perhaps, that complaints would only bnng-down trouble upon their heads. Jt tras in the smallest, the smokiest, and inoak irregularly built of a11 the *radise»row that the Hicks lived. ^'eks, the father, was a bricklayer; a slo^h- lnK, lazy-looking, sulky-mannered fellow, who 'Pent half his time in the public- house, and a good p«rt of the other half in bed. Ron hit w°uld have lived but for the support of his no one-oould say. It was certain a ?tephen Hicks, although as slouching and "dolent and sulky-looking as his father, clever workman, and could earn his o his father's living very easily when he ?oge. To his eredit, be it spoken, he very often did choose. He would be idle alf the week sometimes, but on the o he toiled with a vigour which redeemed the lil-e he had lost. He was a joiner and ?*pP*nter, and had a good deal of piece-work do; indeed, he wa« so skilful with his gerB that he might have got employme *y shop in the neighbouring town ot I air- *lcs at two pounds a week—if, again, Shoaen to do so. And he did not choose. loved to be idle he loved to work in his c "n home, and as he liked; and ho was hntent to earn Jess money than be. niight have done, for the sake of being indepen- dent. worked in the front room. Meals were 2°oked in the kitchen, which was little used for any other purpose. The father and the shared one room upstairs, for the sake of .ni'sing house-work as much as possible. ,P,P'her room stood empty and unfurnished, f es was a widower; and for many j*cais the only woman who entered the house was 1 Mary Cowlard, a spinster of uncertainagc who oame in once a week and oleaned the rooms for him. All the rest of the cleaning was done by Stephen, and that wasi h enough. But he was more disposed towards cleanliness than his father.. Indeed, he had cleanliness than his fat-her. Indeed, he had tastes and fancies which his father fou" difficult to understand. W hy shouW bt show, for instance, such » flowers, and lament the difficulty of getting them to grow in the gritty soil of *he httle back garden What was the good offlowfers, unless they were meant for market. Hie ™d1o S w»h a .narl. But be d,d not ob- ^d^KhSte°n^«rily offwded, ihe hou" floweis, stoc Stephen's heart rV.™.VPihof pl.nt.which had b,e„ was a am- y doctor's daughters, KThSdi&Sd hi. fondne.jfor .ow^ This was a Christmas rose, and it hadl take root and flourished in Stephens gar^ quite a marvellous manner. Even i h herself had not so fine a plant ofihetand. And its blossoming in winter when noweis were scarce, it became quite a customary thin; I ,She knelt (loiv)t, pitt her arms around the dead woman's body, and kLsed the ice cold hps. for the doctor's daughter, or Miss Meredith, the maiden lady, who" did the vases for the altar-table at Underwood Church, to look in on a Saturday afternoon in December or January, and say Can you spare us a Christmas rose or two for the church, Stephen ? "-a request with which Stephen never failed to comply. I am afraid that these good ladies bad a double motive for their requests, for they certainly noticed that Stephen Hicks, who was not a regular ohurch-goer, always presented himself at the morning service when his flowers deco- rated the Communion table and by asking him for them they, therefore, achieved the him for them they, therefore, achieved the laudable purpose of getting him to church. I doubt, however, whether Steve thought much about the service when he got there; he looked at his flowers all the time and, I fancy, never thought of anything else. Yes it was a delight to him to see his delicate blossoms honoured in this way. and he nursed them with great care, as the festal day of winter approached, and he knew that they would be in requisition. The tender shade of pink in the Christmas rose petals is not discernible at a distance, and the bloom, could,therefore, be used when white flowers were desired.Not even in his lordship's gardens, nor at the squire's, could be seen such a fine bed of Christmas roses as Stephen liicks pos- sessed, j ~Th(n }her( Came to his cars a sciad which made hlsfacefuth mth sudden heat. — — I He was almost pleased, as Christmas approached, to be told by the squire s gardener how few flowers they had been able to send to t^f'°They wants X'a lot of white blooms for the font an'all," said Martin, with a touch of Whlv respectable scorn. « I don't see no use • anoh ffoinffs on, for mv part. But I suppose 1? SSTSSUs Mivf nut for your Christmas roses, Stephen, he said condescendingly. "Got many blooms th!?/Cfarir lot," said Stephen, who was not a m*nyo^hacTbetter'take care that they're not atnlen We've had plants taken even from stolen. „ Baid the gardener with a superior g The wu". W« » J.1'" «'d his IM it a distinct insult to the law that the felt it a Sj.pien from liis garden, "'iw/a lo" set »E fell0"'s Grem w- I7X? Vh«f;i;f;"x «°ii Sgar'dei round and send th? £ London You most talic ciire of your Chnst 1 mas rosea, Hicks." hU And, with a nod, thi? gardener %en way. As a rule, he was supremely con- temptuous of the « Penton Gi-eeiiers," as he! called them, and did not like to be talking to them. But Stephens love of. flower! inclined Mr. Mwtin to th.nk that there j was some good in him, although he did come from Penton Green. Stephen went home immediately and in- spected his bed of Christmas roses. They were in use condition. He knelt down and counted the blossoms. There were seventeen in all. This was the 23rd on the morrow several more buds would open; he might have twenty to carry up to church on Christmas Day morning, for he was deter- mined that he would not pick them on Christmas Eve unless he was obliged. They easily fade; and he wanted them to look their beat on the morning of Christmas Day. He had seen the booths and wagons of the circus-people at a short distance from Under- wood. They had not given much of a per- formance, and were supposed to be going into retirement for the rest of the winter. As yet the weather had been so mild that they had not taken up winter quarters anywhere. He took the trouble of walking in the direc- tion of the place where their encampment had stood. but found, to his relief, that the booths and wagons had disappeared. One little hot- remained; but he remembered that it had been used as a pony-shed, and, therefore, made up his mind that it was empty. He went back to his home with a fairly-satisfied heart. Early on the morning of Christmas Eve he was examining his plants. lt seerned to Iiii-n that they had been disturbed. Some of the stalks and leaves were broken off, and the bed showed traces of footsteps. He counted the flowers. Twelve! Twelve only and there had been seventeen the night before, Five of the best blooms were gone. lie came in to breakfast in a very bad temper. Who could have robbed him of his cherished Christmas roses? And who could have taken five instead of seventeen? Why had the thief not taken all the flowers while lie was about ií P And did be intend to come again for the rest? Steve swore to bnmelt, that if he had the handling of that thief- man, woman, or child—the culprit should have a very uncomfortable time of it. lie did not say anything about the robbery to his father. ile knew that his father would be more likely to growl curses on the flowers and Steve's care for them than to express any sympathy with him for their loss. Neither did he speak of it to any of his neighbours. If the story got about," the thief would not be very likely to coi-ne avaiii. And Steve bad a conviction that the thief would come, and that he would fall into the hands of the right- ful owner of the flowers he came to steal. In order to bring about this desirable consum- mation, lie, set to work to construct a primi- tive sort of trap for the thief. There was an outhouse for tools, wood, and coal in the garden and from the tool-house door Stephen tied a long piece of cord to the garden gate in such a manner that anyone concealed behind the door could close the gate with the string. Stephen knew the advan- tage of gaming a moment s time. If thethiet saw the gate close while he was in the garden be would be startled-he would besitate- would wonder whether to leap the fence or try for the closed gate; and in that moment of hesitation Stephen would be upon him and would give him the soundest aruboing that he had ever reoeived in all his life. For Stephen felt pretty sure that the depredator was Jack Marks, a wild lad, who had a grudgs against him, and with whom Stephen bad lone been at war. If he had a chance, he would thrash Jack Marks to a jelly. So he said to himself, with frowning brow and burning eyes, as after dark he fastened his string and ensconced himself in the tool- house. It was dark and cold, but he did not care for that. If he could but catch the thief and "pay him out he would lie satishcd. He waited for half an hour. He heard his father go out of the house—probably to the public-house. He frowned more heavily than ever as he heard that sound. He did not go to the ptiblie-house iiiucli himself, and he had bad a vague idea of trying to persuade his l father to stay away and go with him to a parish concert, which was to be held at Fair- oaks that night; but this plan was out of the question now. So much the worse for the thief When did that fine fellow mean to present himself ? Stephen meant to lie in wait for him all night if necessary. He waited another half-hour, and very long, indeed, did it appear to him. The night was dark, and there were no lamps at the back of Paradise-row. The little gardens opened on a waste piece of ground, covered chiefly with brickbats, nettles, and dead cats. It was not a lovely place. As Stephen waited and listened he thought he heard the sound of a oreeping footstep. Then came the expected olick of the gate- catch. Then somebody stole up the garden- walk, and stooped down over the bed of flowers. Stephen had left the kitchen window open, so that a gleam of light fell on the plants. But there was not light enough for him to see anything but a dark figure—face and form undistinguishable in the darkness. However, that did not matter. He pulled the string and fastened it to a nail in the wall. As he expected, the thief sprang to his feet and made for the fence. But Stephen was too quick to let his prey escape. He sprang after the retreating figure, gripped its arm, and shook it violently. What do you mean by stealing my flowers ? he said. He was answered by a stifled scream, in a girl's voice. It was not Jack Marks, then, after all. He loosened his grasp a little bit from the arm he held. It struck him vaguely that the arm was very slim. What do you mean by it ? he said, still savagely, but in a lower key. It Let 1110 go let me go the girl cried, twisting herself and pushing with all her might at the strong arm that held her tight. Whereupon Steve gave her another little shake. I shall not let you go. Be quiet, and tell me who you are. I'll give you to the policeman if you don't hold your noise." HOb, no, no! please don't 1" said the girl, bursting into tears. I'll never do it again —never. I wouldn't ha' donj it now but for motherland she's dead. Don't give me to the bobby I'm so frightened of 'm, aud I don't want to go to prison-I don't." Then you shouldn't steal," said Stephen, severely. Ii What do you mean by getting them for your mother, and that she's dead ? Why do you tell lies about it ?" I ain't telling no lies," sobbed the girl. Mother's a-lyiu' dead in the hut on the com- mon, where the show used to be. The show's gone away, and left us behind. They said we was to come on when muther was better. But now she's dead, and I'll have to get the parish to bury her to-morrer." What has that got to do with my flowers?" Mother was so fond o' flowers," pleaded the thi.f. She's said to me often, I Rosy, when I'm dead, be sure you put a flower in my 'ands. They always did so in the place where I come from, and I shouldn't like to be buried without,' says she. And I didn't know where to get flowers from. I was afraid to go to the gentlemen's gardens, so I looked out for small uns, and jour's was the pettiest 1 could see." II Here, come indoors; I want to look at .rou," said Stephen. And drawing his un- willing captive aftdr him, ho entered thu kitch-'n, and sfiut tfae door j then ha loosed J I her arm, lighted a caudle, and looked at her in silence. She was a girl of fifteen or sixteen years of age, long, lean, and lanky; badly dressed, and evidently badly fed; but pretty, for all that. Her thin pointed face had delicate features, the big, dark eyes were sort and beautifully- shaped, and tho rough hair might, undei other circumstances, have been called golden. ller dress was of thin pink barfig#—very un- suitable for the season and it was so short in the skirt that Stephen shrewdly suspected it of having once been part of the girl's stage- attire. She had no hat, and her broken, bulging boots were soaking wet. He saw that she had talren a short cut to his cottage by running across a fJiece of marshy land at the back of Paradise-row. What do you do for a living ? he asked her gruffly, when he bad completed his scrutiny. I dance, and I sing sometimes, :So al(i mother." "What was the matter with her ? The fever. Mr. Binns, that's the master of the show, you know—thought she would get better if she was left quiet. So he packed up and went two days ago. I think he was afraid. Mother died last night. I got them other flowers early for her this morning." Does no one know ? The girl shook her head. 1 didn't know who to tell. I was agoing to the parson in the morning." To-morrow's Christmas Day," said Stephen, with some irrelevance. You should have gone to him to-day." The girl stared at him defiantly, and then hung her head and looked at her flowers. You'll let me go, won't you f" she said, after a moment's silence. H I didn't mean 80 harm." -4 Take me with you to see your mother, then," said Stephen. She looked at him doubtfully, then nodded her head and moved towards the door. He opened it for her without any show of sus- picion, and let her pass out before him. But when she reached the gate she scudded away in the darkness like a frightened fawn. Stephen laughed under his breath as he pre- pared to follow her. She had not calculated on his knowing the way. He took a lantern from the toolhouse and crossed the waste land and the marsh ground, thus arriving at the high road, when he struck out aoross the common to the spot where the pony shed was standing. It was a desolate place. The shed was made of single planks, loosely nailed together. Inside there was a heap of straw and a wooden box. When Stephen opened the door and cast the light of his lantern on the scene he saw that the girl was sitting on the box and that the rigid form of the dead mother, lightly covered with a thin blanket, lay upon straw. The girl uttered a little shriek as she saw him, then stood up with a look of dumb terror and deprecation on her face. Stephen looked at her in silence for a minute or two. It was not his way to talk very much. Presently he set down the lantern, and showed her what he held in his left hand, It was a bunch of his Christmas roses he had gathered every flower he had. The tears gathered in her eyes, and rolled over her thin cheeks, but she did not speak. She stood aside and watched him ashe silently turned down the ooverlet and disposed the flowers on the dead woman's breast and waxen hands. The blossoms stolen from him before were already there. Then he stood and looked at her, realising, with curious wonderment,

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I that the dead stroller, deserted by nil save bei young daughter, lying in an outhouse as if shunned by her kind, had once been a very beautiful woman. There were traces of beauty in her pale features, which he saw repeated in the girl at his side. Posy, if Posy was her name, would be a beautiful woman, too. "Shall you mind being left for a few minutes ? he said, forgetting that she had been left" for many hours with that dead mother for her sole companion. I'll get some help, and have her moved to a proper place." Where?" asked Rosy. I sappole-to the workhouse." Will they let me stay with her till they put her in the ground ? Well—no I don't suppose so." Then she shan't go," said the girl deflantljr, and, bursting into tears, she knelt down, put her arms around the dead woman's body, and kissed the ice-cold lips. It was at that very moment that a peal 01 Christmas joy-bells sounded from a distant church-tower and reached the eat s of !"tephen} as he stood looking at this miserable scene. A keen sense of contrast came to him, in this commingling of the sounds of joy and sorrow. "It ain't a very happy Christmas for you," he said, with a vague idea of saying some* thing comforting to her, but maybe those that come after '11 be happier." Whether his words consoled her or not he could not tell; but she grew quieter and allowed him to call in the helpers that he required without further opposition. But, after all, he did not let the poor dead woman go to the workhouse. He ordered the men to carry her to his own house in Paradise-row and to lay her in the empty room upstairs. Then he made a bed for the girl in the kitchen, and told her to stay with him and his father till they told her to go." It was < rough way of saying a kindly thing. Old H ioka was quite ready to tell her to go when he oame back from the publio-house that night at eleven o'clock. But for once his usually submissive son opposed him, and oar- ried the day. Stephen threatened to leave the house unless he was allowed to do as he pleased in it; aud, as it was he who paid the rent and provided most of the necessaries of life, his father was wise enough not to drive him too far. And by the time Posy's mother was buried he had grown so sensible of the advantages of having a girl in the house that he was very unlikely to ask her to remove herself. Rosy was willing to stay. She had nowher* to goo; She did not want to join another travelling company, or to go back to the old one. She knew nothing about household matters, but she was ready to learn. Stephen gave her all the information in his powert and then told her, in his usual gt-uff manner, that she must find out the rest for herself, And she did find out a great deal. She gave every sign of becoming a capital little house- keeper, and kept the house far cleaner and neater than it had ever been before. The Underwood vicar's wife, hearirg of the extraordinary incident that bad occurred at Penton Green, took an early opportunity ol walking over to llicks's house and inter- viewing Rosy. Stephen was present, and viewed Mrs. Charteris with more suspicion than gratitude. What did she want poking her nose into his affairs ?" he asked himself, wrathfully. He heard on all sides that she was very kind, but he did not want her kind- nesf. Posy Is that j'our only name ? WThaf was your mother's UfUHe P" Mother's name was Laura Molio but she told me once it was only her dancing name, and she had another. But 1 dunno what that was." Hosy," repeated Mrs. Charteris, dubiousil II Well, you don't look much like a rose til present., my dear, but I hope you will sooi grow rosier in this fresh country air. A verj. white rose at present." A Christmas rose," said Stephen, lookinj intently at the girl wbereat liosy's eye\ lids drooped, and the colour rose in her pah cheeks. Will you come over to my girls' class ai Underwood Vicarage ? Mrs. Charttiis Waf asking. It is at three o'clock on Sunday afternoons. I shall be glad to see you." Thank you, ma'am," Stephen interposed; but she oan't go nowhere till she have frocki made for her. She's to have a black frock at soon as Mercy Tait can run it up for her." Well, when she has her black frock shocaB come," said Mrs. Charteris bravely. I will enter her name in my book. Ro»y—Rosy r "Posy Hicks," said Stephen. "Jf she hain't got a name of her own bette* have mine." Lawrence, dear," Mrs. Charteris said to her busbar.d that night, "do you know, I feel quite uneasy about that young girl at the ilickaes. I don't think it is quite right for hem to remain with those two mwn. That yoang man Stephen Hicks, looks a very rough kind of fellow Do you think it is all right ? Perhaps you can get a situation for her,? said the vioar, oheerily. It was his habit ta look on the bright aide of things. "And don't think there is any harm in Hicks h was a very tractable boy when he used to oom. to the Sunday sohool. Besides, the girl is ft mere child, you say r » II Quite a child." And so she looked in her short pink frock# but when she was endued with the blaoa merino which Stephen had extravagantl* ordered for her she had the air of a girl q £ seventeen. And in a very few weeks, when rest and regular hours and fairly substantial meals began to do their work, she blossomed out in beautiful womanhood in a way that took the village by surprise. The village did not approve of Rosy. She was all very well for Penton Green, but she did not do for Underwood. The N-icaraga people were kind to her, but in rather «' reproachful way. They thought it would be so much nioer if she would consent to bet trained as a parlourmaid. But she refused tor leave the Hickses, and the Ricksos refused^