"Hi, there!" yelled Marty, waving his mittened hands. "Ain't you lost over here, Mr. Haley?"
"I see somebody has been before me," laughed Nelson Haley, following Walky Dexter's tracks over the fence and up to the cleared porch. "How do you do, Miss Janice? A very happy Christmas to you!"
"Thank you for your good wish, Mr. Haley," she replied, soberly. "But it is not going to be a very glad Christmas for me, I fear. Oh! is it for me?" for he had thrust the long pasteboard box into her arms.
"If you will accept them, Miss Janice," returned the young man, with a bow.
"Open it, Janice!" exclaimed Marty. "Let's see."
"I—I——"
"Lemme do it for you," cried Marty, the curious. He broke the string, yanked off the paper, and Janice herself lifted the cover. A great breath of spicy odor rushed out at her from the box.
"Oh! Mr. Haley! Cut flowers! Hothouse flowers! Wherever did you get them?" cried Janice, drawing aside the tissue paper and burying her face in the fragrant, dewy blossoms.
"Aw—flowers! Huh!" grunted Marty, in disappointment.
"I am glad you like them so," said Nelson Haley. "Marty, I didn't bring them to you. But here is something that will please you better, I know," and he put into the boy's hand a combination pocketknife that would have delighted any out-of-door youth. "Only you must give me a penny for it. I don't believe in giving sharp-edged presents to friends. It cuts friendship, they say," and the collegian laughed.