CHAPTER VIII
ONCE MORE
It was at a church picnic that Ellen discovered who had sent her the flowers at Christmas and she reported her discovery to Miss Rindy that evening.
“Who was that walking home with you?” asked Miss Rindy, who had been on the watch.
“Frank Ives,” returned Ellen promptly. “He was real nice to me at the picnic, and insisted on carrying my basket home, though, goodness knows, it wasn’t heavy.”
“Humph!” was Miss Rindy’s only comment.
“And, Cousin Rindy, I found out who sent me the flowers last Christmas; it was Frank.”
Miss Rindy gave her a keen look, but there was no conscious expression on the girl’s face. “I don’t have much use for those Iveses,” came the comment. “They were poor trash before the war, and now that they have plenty of money they are insufferable in my opinion. The father made his money in the war, cheating the government, I’m told, and they have splurged out and put on airs till I can’t stand the sight of them. The girl’s a painted doll, and the mother isn’t much better.”
“Frank seems rather jolly,” Ellen defended, “and rather like his name,—frank, you know, and not a bit airish.”
“I don’t know anything about the boy, but I’d advise you to keep clear of the whole outfit.”