"Does she like to read?"
"I guess she does."
"I saw a new book advertised—a choice collection of poems. It's really something fine—far better than most collections. How would that suit?"
"How much was the book?"
"Two dollars and a half, but we, as dealers, can get it for a dollar and seventy-five cents."
"Then that's what I'll get. And I'll write in it, 'To Miss Gertrude Horton, from her true friend Nelson,'" said the boy.
The book was duly purchased, and our hero spent the best part of half an hour in writing in it to his satisfaction. That night he closed up a little early and walked down to the Kennedy home with the volume under his arm.
"Oh, what a splendid book!" cried Gertrude, on receiving it. Then she read the inscription on the fly-leaf. "Nelson, you are more than kind, and I shall never forget you!" And she squeezed his hand warmly.
Gladys had brought her largest bouquet and also a nice potted plant, and Mrs. Kennedy had presented a sensible present in the shape of a much-needed pair of rubbers.
"Winter will soon be here," said the old woman. "And then it's not our Miss Gertrude is going to git wet feet, at all!"