It had been in full bloom the day before. Now it was beginning to droop. Philippe looked at it pityingly.
"Poor rose!" he said. "Tomorrow you will be dead."
Then he went into the house.
The next morning Philippe arose early. He ran to the cabbage patch. But the cabbages all looked neat and whole. None had been disturbed during the night.
"She has not come!" moaned poor Philippe.
Sadly he started toward the cottage, when again he noticed the rose. But this time it was only the stem he saw. The petals all had fallen to the ground.
"Poor rose!" he sighed. "She is dead!"
"POOR ROSE," HE SAID