Rose-Red's mamma gathered her up in her arms and comforted her. "Ruthie's probably sorry now, dear," she said. "Perhaps she will tell you so by and by. Will my little girl be Rose-Ready, if she does?"
"Rose-Ready for what, mamma?" Rose-Red sat up and dried her eyes.
"Rose-Ready-to-Forgive."
Rose-Red nodded. "I think I'll gather the posies now," was all she said.
Every day Rose-Red cut fresh flowers in the garden and arranged them for the house. It was the one thing in all the world she liked best to do. The roses she always left till the last—"for dessert," she explained.
Rose-Red's mamma gathered her up in her arms and comforted her
"Roses, dear," she said, as she tucked them one by one into their special bowl, "what would you do if your best friend slapped you?"
Just then a thorn pricked Rose-Red's finger. "You'd prick her, would you?" Rose-Red laughed. "That's because you are only a rose and don't know any better. It wouldn't be nice for a little girl to prick. I do know something better!"