“For me?”
“Your name is on the tag,” said Anne.
Instantly, Polly and Eleanor scrambled downstairs and Polly tremblingly tried to untie the string about the box.
“Dear me—it won’t even break!” said she, trying to tear the cord by pulling at it.
“Here—take the knife!” cried Eleanor, having dashed to the dining-room to catch up a silver knife, and returning with it.
The string was cut, the lid taken off, and several wrappers of oiled paper removed. Then, there, upon a bed of lace-paper rested a dozen of magnificent American Beauties, with stems more than a yard long. And to the cluster, about the middle of the stems, was attached a fine golden cord holding a papier maché heart. The heart had a golden arrow half-buried in its plump center.
“What wonderful roses!” breathed Polly.
“Isn’t the heart cute!” giggled Eleanor.
“No card, or sign, to say where they came from?” asked Anne, picking the heart up carefully.
“Oh, there’s another heart—see! On the point of the arrow at the back,” cried Eleanor. And there was another heart fastened to the first one by means of the sharp arrow.