“Of course it is! Look again, and guess what those are,” answered Uncle Mac, chuckling and enjoying it all like a boy.
A wreath of what looked at first like purple brooms appeared below the vase, but Rose guessed what they were meant for, and stood straight up, holding by his shoulder, and crying excitedly,
“Thistles, uncle, Scotch thistles! There are seven of them one for each boy! Oh, what a joke!” and she laughed so that she plumped into the bottom of the boat and stayed there till the brilliant spectacle was quite gone.
“That was rather a neat thing, I flatter myself,” said Uncle Mac, in high glee at the success of his illumination. “Now, shall I leave you on the Island or take you home again, my good little girl?” he added, lifting her up with such a tone of approbation in his voice that Rose kissed him on the spot.
“Home, please uncle; and I thank you very very much for the beautiful firework you got up for me. I'm so glad I saw it; and I know I shall dream about it,” answered Rose steadily, though a wistful glance went toward the Island, now so near that she could smell powder and see shadowy figures flitting about.
Home they went; and Rose fell asleep saying to herself, “It was harder than I thought, but I'm glad I did it, and I truly don't want any reward but Phebe's pleasure.”
Chapter 11—Poor Mac
Rose's sacrifice was a failure in one respect, for, though the elders loved her the better for it, and showed that they did, the boys were not inspired with the sudden respect which she had hoped for. In fact, her feelings were much hurt by overhearing Archie say that he couldn't see any sense in it; and the Prince added another blow by pronouncing her “the queerest chicken ever seen.”
It is apt to be so, and it is hard to bear; for, though we do not want trumpets blown, we do like to have our little virtues appreciated, and cannot help feeling disappointed if they are not.