She could not bear to have its lovely petals take on a dark purplish tinge at the edges where the frost curled them.

In the church the steam-heated atmosphere brought out its fragrance till it was almost overpoweringly sweet, but when she glanced down she saw that it was no longer crisp and glowing.

It had wilted in the sudden change, and hung limp and dying on its stem.
"I'll put it away in an envelope when I get back to the house," thought Mary.

"When they all fade I'll save the leaves and make a potpourri of them like we made of Eugenia's wedding roses, and put them away in my little Japanese rose-jar, to keep always." Then the music began, and she entered heartily into the beautiful Christmas service.

The offering was to be divided among the various charities of the parish, it had been announced, and Mary, remembering the bright new quarter in her purse, was glad that she had earned that bit of silver herself.