My power you scorn,
My power you scorn.”
To which the Saint replies gently, but tediously,—
“My lord they are,
My lord they are
But simple roses,
But simple ro-o-oses,
That I gathered in the garden even now.”
“Suppose that bread hadn’t been changed to roses,” said Elizabeth speculatively, “I wonder what St. Elizabeth would have done.”
“Oh, she knew it had been, because she prayed it would be,” said Marie, who was something of a theologian.