Just as Mabel was ushered into the bower of roses, which was the lawn's substitute for a reception-room, she overheard some one saying to her hostess:
"Queen rose of the rose-bud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done.
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one.
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
The Red Rose cries, 'She is near; she is near!'
And the White Rose weeps, 'She is late!'"
"All right, papa, I'll come at once;" and then, with a bow, smile, and hand-clasp for Mabel, she added, "You come with me, for you are a stranger here, and we will lead the opening dance together." Then throwing her head back merrily, so that her curls touched her fathers arm, she laughingly continued: "What a papa—'the dances are done!' They haven't commenced; nor will they until I start them"; and with the gay raillery which her father so thoroughly understood, added, "I shall punish you by asking you to help mamma to receive, not only for yourself, but for me too."
And then, with a winning smile towards the incoming guests, following close one after the other, and seemingly a perfect prism of color—for so smart and catchy were their gowns, frocks, and parasols—she tripped off merrily, holding Mabel's hand tight meanwhile, to where the musicians were hidden behind the clump of tall snowball bushes, and a moment later the dances began.
It was a rare sight, a revel of beauty. The older folks watched from garden chairs, and seats made softly comfortable with the abundance of mellow-tinted rugs and downy dainty-covered pillows. The boys could only represent roses by wearing their favorites as boutonnières, but the girls' frocks, sashes, and broad-brimmed hats were very suggestive, and marvels of exquisite color.
All the roses came to the festival—the Austrian in its brilliant yellow, Jacqueminot in its deep red; even the little Primrose came, though it was a question as to her right; however, we were not sorry to see her, for the delicious lilac-colored costume was a pleasing contrast and a set-off to the others. The hostess personated a Moss-rose Bud. Her frock was pink tulle over the palest of pink satin. She wore a girdle of rose-buds, rose-buds around her neck and arms, and her Leghorn hat was encircled with the same flower. This hat she sometimes wore, but oftener than otherwise it was suspended from her arm by its pink satin strings, and in this respect her guests would often copy her.
During the afternoon the hostess filled her hat full of rose-buds, and somehow she managed to keep it replenished, notwithstanding that she gave to each of her older guests a bouquet, repeating while doing so, as she rapidly walked from one to the other:
"Gather ye rose-buds while ye may;
Old Time is still a-flying.
And the same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying."