Roger was pleased. He thought about the mission some time; then he said, "I wish I could send my rose-bush in the little red pot."
"You can if you wish," said his mother, "and I will write a note for you."
Roger's eyes grew bright. His mother wrote, "Roger Daland sends this rose to some sick child."
Then it was sent away in a nice basket. Three days after, the postman brought Roger a note; it said:—
"Dear Little Boy, I am lame. I can never walk. My mother goes out washing. I am alone all day. I used to cry. I never cry since the rose-bush came. I sit in my chair and watch it. I thank you, and my mother does too. I learned to write before I fell down on the ice. My mother cannot write, but she says she will ask God to bless you. She can work better, for the rose keeps me company. She used to cry too, when I was all alone.
"'The rose will grow forever,' she says. I hope it will not die.
"My mother says 'if it does die in the pretty pot, the goodness will keep on growing.' I shall not let it die.