"I did not tell you to hold her hand. I told you to try to hold her hand."
"Well! I builded better than you knew: give me my flowers."
"What did you do?" she asked again, in a voice that admitted the worst.
"How do I know? I was thinking of something else! But here comes
Harriet," he said, quickly standing up and gazing down the street.
"Go in," said Miss Anna, "I want to see Harriet alone."
"You go in. The porch isn't dark; but I'll stay here with her!"
"Please."
When he had gone, Miss Anna leaned over and lifting the bouquet from the sticking cherry seed tossed it into the yard—tossed it far.
Harriet came out into the porch looking wonderfully fresh. "How do you do, Anna?" she said with an accent of new cordiality, established cordiality.
The accent struck Miss Anna's ear as the voice of the bouquet. She had at once discovered also that Harriet was beautifully dressed—even to the point of wearing her best gloves.