"
"O tell us all about it now," said Minnehaha. "We have this forenoon as a
half holiday, and papa is to join us in about an hour for a walk in the
woods."
The kind-hearted old Indian had been pleased with the plucky way in which
the children had slighted their wounded hands, and before he began his
story he acted the part of the skillful physician. He found some soft juicy
leaves which he crushed and spread on the ugly red scratches. The effect
was magical, and the children who had so bravely treated their wounds with
indifference gratefully acknowledged the sudden cessation of the smart.
Selecting a pretty spot under a clump of balsam trees, where some
boulder-like stones afforded them comfortable seats, the children cuddled
down with their old friend, to hear how the roses got their thorns.
"Long ago the roses were the most abundant of flowers, but they grew on
bushes that were smooth and fragrant, and such delicious eating that all
the animals that eat grass or browse were constantly seeking for and
devouring not only the rose flowers but also the bushes on which they grew.
The result was that the roses of all kinds were in danger of being
exterminated. In those days trees and flowers and other things had greater
powers of thinking and acting than they have now, and so the roses of
different kinds met in council to decide what could be done to preserve
those of them that were still left in existence. It was decided that a
deputation of them should be sent to Nanahboozhoo to implore his
assistance.
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