"You're a fairy, a witch, an enchanted princess!" cried Tom.
"Exactly," replied Elsie. "Perhaps a verbena would look better than a rosebud, Tom."
Tom cared very little what she put in his button-hole; a thistle, thorns and all, would have been precious to him if her hands had touched it, and he would have torn his fingers against the prickles with an exquisite sense of enjoyment.
"No, the rose is the prettiest," said Elsie, and she threw the verbena away, and began her task again.
"Are you tired; do you want to get up, Tom?"
"You know I'd rather be here than in heaven!" he exclaimed.
Elsie gave him one of her bewildering glances.
"You don't mean that," said she; "you know you don't!"
"I do, I do! Oh, Elsie!"
"Keep still, keep still. You jump about so that I can't fasten the rose; there, I've lost the pin; no, here it is."