CHAPTER XVI
ROSES AND THORNS
David pulled a rose from the little bush by the house corner, and began to chew its petals.
“Don’t do that!” begged Polly. “It doesn’t want to be eaten up.”
The boy laughed, looking ruefully down at the jagged edges of the flower.
“It isn’t sweet anyway,” he argued. “If I were a rose I’d be sweet, and I wouldn’t have thorns. But then,” he went on thoughtfully, “people are a good deal like roses. Some are sweet, and some aren’t; but ’most everybody has thorns somewhere.”
“I guess one of mine’s laziness,” sighed Polly, “and it’s been pricking the teachers all this week. I hate to study in such warm weather! I want to stay outdoors instead of being shut up in a stuffy room.”
“It is horrid,” agreed Patricia, “but I don’t dare be lazy. I have to get good reports to send back to Nevada. If I didn’t stand high, papa’d have a conniption.”
“I’m going to study better next week,” decided Polly, “so I’ll be a thornless rose, like you.”
“Dear me, I have thorns enough!” Patricia laughed. “Mamma says I’m selfish and careless and, oh, I don’t know what! So, you see, they scratch her. What’s your thorn, David?”