“You’re a sly little lad,” he said, pinching Jerry’s ear. “I thought that was what you came for.”
“I thought it was just to see the flowers,” said Cassy.
“You can do that, too, but we’ll pick out yours first. I slipped a lot of geraniums a while ago; they’re easy cared for and are good bloomers; no trouble if you give them a sunny window and a little water. Now then.” He stopped before a row of potted geraniums already showing their gay blooms of red and pink. “Take your pick,” he said.
“Oh!” Cassy crouched down and looked lovingly from one to the other. How could she decide among so many? However, finally, after changing her mind frequently, she halted between a crimson and a lovely pink. Then she sought Jerry’s advice, and he spoke for the red one, but Cassy thought her mother would like the pink one; it was such a lovely color, and finally that was selected; Cassy, hugging it to her, fairly kissed the little flower.
“How good you are,” she said. “Oh, Mr. McClure, what a lovely father you must be.”
John McClure threw back his head and laughed.
“I’m no father at all,” he said; “I’m a lone man with neither chick nor child.”
“I think that is a great pity,” said Cassy, gravely. “I have been thinking of you living in a pretty little house with morning-glories climbing over the porch.”
“And all the place I’ve got is a room in a workman’s boarding-house.”
“I wish you did have a cottage.”