"Stranger?" cries the young man, with a laugh that echoes through the room. "Couldn't you feel it was a friend and no 'stranger' when my hands closed over your eyes?" And he looks at her with such irresistible friendliness as he speaks, that she cannot but smile—and the girl looking on smiles too.
"Olof's my name—and no stranger, if you please."
After that he seemed to be thinking for a moment, then suddenly he asks, "Are you fond of flowers, Pansy?"
"Yes, indeed. And I've two of my own—a fuchsia and a balsamine," answers the girl.
"Red flowers both! And do you keep them in your window?"
"Where else should they be?"
"And can you see them from outside?"
"Indeed you can, now they're in bloom."
"And where is your window, then?" says he, with a sly little gleam in his eyes. "Tell me, so I can see them too when I pass."
The girl opens her lips to answer, but checks herself suddenly. "Nay,
I'll not tell!"