“American beauties, Berry Vining--for you!” he cried, thrusting them into her eager little hands, with a significant grin on his good-natured, freckled face. CHAPTER II. THE ROSY EMBLEM. Berry cried out in delight as she pressed the flowers to her face: “Oh, how sweet, how lovely! Who sent me the roses, Jimmy Dolan?” “Gent from up ter de hall, sure, but I dunno his name. He was goin’ past our shop on horseback with Miss Montague, and when they turned the corner he rid back and bought these roses and guv me a dollar ter bring ’em ter you, Berry--leastwise he said, ‘that pretty girl in the morning-glory cottage down the street,’ so I knowed ’twas you, and then he said: ‘Tell her the roses came from an ardent admirer.’” With that Jimmy darted away, and left Berry standing with the roses pressed to her face, lost in a dream of delight. “He loves me, loves me! For love is the emblem of the sweet, red rose,” thought the romantic little maiden, trembling with pure joy. To her young mind the gift of the roses was like an avowal of love from the handsome stranger, and she went happily about her simple tasks, hoping, praying that before another day they might meet again. When Mrs. Vining came home that night to the simple tea Berry had prepared, she wondered a little that the girl wore the pretty, ruffled, white gown that had been kept sacred to Sunday toilets before. “Must be invited to a party--never saw your Sunday gown on before, in the middle of the week,” she observed tentatively. Berry, blushing almost as red as the rose on her breast, answered carelessly: “Oh, I just thought of standing at the gate to see the people going up to the lawn fête at the hall to-night, you know.” “And wishing in your heart you could go, too, silly child; ain’t you, now? Well, you’re pretty enough to be there, if that was all, Berry, but it isn’t, more’s the pity for you, so don’t waste any regret on it, dearie, for remember the true saying: ‘Poor folks have to have poor ways.’” “I don’t think it should be the way, mamma, for I’ve often heard it said that clothes don’t make the man--nor woman, either! For instance, now, Miss Rosalind Montague is no better, nor prettier, than I am, if she were stripped of her fine clothes and jewels!” “Fie, fie! you vain little chick, I’m surprised at your talk. Let me hear no more of it. You must be contented in the sphere where Heaven has placed you, Berry. Or, if you wish to better your lot, you have a fine chance before you now.” “What do you mean?” gasped Berry breathlessly. “You have another proposal of marriage--one from a rich man!” “Oh, mamma!” gasped Berry joyously, her eyes beaming, her cheeks aflame. She could think of one--only one lover--at this moment. How quickly he had found out her mother, how impetuous he was, her handsome lover--how impetuous, how adorable!