"You don't know—for certain?" she cried. "I do! Mr. Randolph sent you those roses—both boxes!"
The woman felt the flame in her face and turned quickly on pretense of searching for something in her sewing-basket. She was so long about it that Polly began to complain.
"You don't care very much, seems to me! I thought you'd be just as glad as I am!"
"Why, I am glad to find out who sent them, dear, as glad as can be!
But I may as well be sewing on these buttons while you are talking.
Now, tell me how you found out—I'm dying to know!" she laughed.
"Well, it's so funny!" Polly resumed. "You see, our Sunday-School is going to send a boy in India to college, and last Sunday we had to tell how we'd earned what we brought. A boy in Chris's class, Herbert Ogden, said Mr. Randolph paid him fifteen cents apiece for carrying two boxes of roses to the June Holiday Home. So after Sunday-School Chris went along with him and asked him if he remembered who the boxes were for. He said, 'Oh, yes, because it was such a queer name! They were both directed to Miss Ju-an-i-ta Sterling!' Chris said it was all he could do to keep his face straight. And the boy went on to say he remembered the last name because it made him think of sterling silver! Wasn't that the greatest?"
The exclamations and laughter satisfied even Polly.
"You'll thank him right away, shan't you?" she queried.
"I suppose I ought." sighed the possessor of the roses.
"Don't you want to?" Polly's tone showed her surprise.
"Such notes are hard to write," was the discreet answer. She bent closer over her work than there was any need. Her cheeks were pinking up again.