So, I can't help
loving it better than any thing. But, since you say it makes you sick,
I won't love it, or gather it any more.' Then her words became almost
inarticulate from sobbing, as she added,--'Why should I wear it now?
I belong to a stranger!. My father is gone!'
"I need scarcely say that I not only returned the flowers, and pleaded
my ignorance, but I went up to the hill, and pulled up the tree by the
roots. 'Sweet sister,' said I, 'I was only angry with it because you
abused the favoured tree of our country, the rose. But now, as the sun
shines on it, and I see it nearer,'--looking at her,--'I do think the
rose may envy it, as the loveliest of my country women might envy you.
I'll plant it in our garden.'
"'O, how good you are!' she exclaimed; 'and I'll plant a rose-tree near
it, and they shall mingle their sweets; for our love and care of them
will make them live together without envy. Every thing should love each
other. I love every tree, and fruit, and flower.'
"Still I observed, as her thin robes were disarranged, that her little
downy bosom fluttered like an imprisoned bird panting for liberty; and,
to turn her thoughts from what had pained her, I said,--'Do not fear,
dear Zela.
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