“And what do you think?” went on Tommy. “Old lady Trivett made mother a present of a horse-shoe geranium, the kind ma always admired.”
“She never!” exclaimed Gloria.
“Sure did,” insisted Tom. “We were awfully surprised.”
“I should think you would be,” agreed Gloria. She and Tom were leaving the village behind them and wending their way homeward.
“I tell you, Tom,” mused Gloria. “I guess poor old Nancy felt sorry for being so—so hasty. You can’t always judge folks, can you?”
“No. Ma said she’d rather have that potted slip all ready for the winter, you know, than most anything else.”
“So, see what your wheel spill did after all.” Gloria laughed lightly—rather too lightly for Gloria. “That geranium’s what they call a conscience gift, I guess,” she continued. “You know how Walter Garrabrant sent a dollar to the trolley company last year?”
“Yes, but that seemed foolish,” replied Tom. “If he stole rides he didn’t use any extra power.”
“Tom Whitely! I’m ashamed of you!” declared Gloria. “Of course the trolley company can’t be robbed any more than other folks. I believe the very meanest feeling must be that of taking and keeping something belonging to someone else.” She shuddered so that Tom looked up queerly.
“What’s the matter, Glo? Did you have any trouble out to your aunt’s?”