" It is for me alone!" said the rose with the blemishor distinction." Why should I thus in every respect bedistinguished above all my sisters!Why did I get this pe-culiarity， which makes me the lucklest?"
Then two gentlemen smoking cigars came into the garden ;they talked about roses and about tobacco ;roses，it was said， could not stand smoke， they lose their colourand become green; it was worth trying. They had not theheart to take one of the very finest roses，they took the one with the blemish.
" What a new distinction!" it said，" I am exceeding-ly lucky!The very luckiest!"
And it became green with self-consciousness and to-bacco smoke.
One rose， still half-blown， perhaps the finest on thetree，got the place of honour in the gardener's tastefullyarranged bouquet ;it was brought to the young， lordlymaster of the house， and drove with him in the carriage;it sat as a flower of beauty among other flowers and lovelygreen leaves; it went to a splendid gathering，where menand women sat in fine attire illuminated by a thousand lamps;music sounded; it was in the sea of light whichfilled the theatre; and when smidst the storm of applausethe celebrated young dancer fluttered forward on the stage， bouquet after bouquet flew like a rain of flowers before her feet. There fell the bouquet in which the lovelyrose sat like a gem. It felt the fullness of its indescribablegood fortune， the honour and splendour into which it floated;and as it touched the floor， it danced too ， itsprang， and flew along the boards， breaking its stalk as itfell. It did not come into the hands of the favourite， itrolled behind the scenes， where a scene-shifter took it up，saw how beautiful it was， how full of fragrance it was， butthere was no stalk on it.So he put it in his pocket，and when he went home in the evening it was in a dram-glass， and lay there in water the whole night. Early in the morn- ing it was set before the grandmother， who sat in her arm-chair， old and frail. She looked at the lovely broken rose，and rejoiced in its beauty and its scent. "Yes， you did not go to the rich and fine lady's table， but to the poor old woman; but here you are like a whole rose-tree;how lovely you are!"
And she looked with childlike delight at the flower， and thought，no doubt ，of her own long-past youthful days. " There was a hole in the pane，" said the wind，" Ieasily got in， and saw the old woman's eyes， youthfullyshining，and the lovely， broken rose in the dram-glass.
The luckiest of all! I know it! I can tell it!"
Each rose on the tree had its story.Each rose be-lieved and thought itself to be the luckiest， and faith makesblessed.The last rose，however，was the luckiest of all，inits own opinion. " I outlived them all! I am the last， the only one， mother's dearest child!"
" And I am the mother of them!" said the rose-hedge. " I am that!" said the sunshine.
"And I，" said wind and weather.
" Each has a share in them!"said the wind，"and each shall get a share in them!" and so the wind strewed the leaves out over the hedge， where the dew-drops lay， where the sun shone." I，also， will get my share，" saidthe wind." I got all the stories of all the roses，which Iwill tell out in the wide world!Tell me now， which was theluckiest of them all? Yes， you must say that; I have saidenough!"