“Nobody!” said Bobby. “I brought it myself. It was my rose. You see,” he said, drawing his stool up to the little stove, “I heard you say, yesterday, Mrs. Flanagan, when you brought my shirts home, that you had never had a New Year’s call in your life; so I thought I would make you one to-day, you see. Happy New Year!”
“Happy New Year to yersilf, me sweet jewel!” cried good Mrs. Flanagan. “And blessings go wid every day of it, for your kind heart and your sweet face. I had a sore spot in my heart this day, Master Bobby, bein’ so far from my own people; but it’s you have taken it away this minute, wid yer sweet rose and yer bright smile. See now, till I put it in my best chiny taypot. Ain’t that lovely, now?”
“Isn’t it!” cried Beau Bobby. “And it makes the whole room sweet. I am enjoying my call very much, Mrs. Flanagan; aren’t you?”
“That I am!” said Mrs. Flanagan. “With all my heart!”
A NEW YEAR SONG.
When the year is new, my dear,
When the year is new,
Let us make a promise here,