"Come on, ye rosy hours,
All joy and gladness bring!"
"You see, Harry, you're going to have a bouquet to put into the button-hole of that coat. It will make you look so handsome! There, now—there, now,—
'We'll strew the way with flowers,
And merrily, merrily sing.'"
Suddenly stopping, she looked at him archly, and said, "You can't tell, now, what I'm doing all this for!"
"There's never any telling what you women do anything for."
"Do hear him talk—so pompous! Well, sir, it's for your birthday, now. Aha! you thought, because I can't keep the day of the month, that I didn't know anything about it; but I did. And I have put down now a chalk-mark every day, for four weeks, right under where I keep my ironing-account, so as to be sure of it. And I've been busy about it ever since two o'clock this morning. And now—there, the tea-kettle is boiling!"—and away she flew to the door.
"Oh, dear me!—dear me, now!—I've killed myself, now, I have!" she cried, holding up one of her hands, and flirting it up in the air. "Dear me! who knew it was so hot?"
"I should think a little woman that is so used to the holder might have known it," said Harry, as he caressed the little burnt hand.