“She has n't got any bwetelles to her dwess, and I have,” said Maud, settling her ruffled bands over her shoulders, which looked like cherry-colored wings on a stout little cherub.
“I did wish she'd just wear my blue set, ribbon is so very plain; but, as Tom says, it don't much matter;” and Fanny gave an effective touch to the blue bow above Polly's left temple.
“She might wear flowers; they always suit young girls,” said Mrs. Shaw, privately thinking that her own daughters looked much the best, yet conscious that blooming Polly had the most attractive face. “Bless me! I forgot my posies in admiring the belles. Hand them out, Tom;” and Mr. Shaw nodded toward an interesting looking box that stood on the table.
Seizing them wrong side-up, Tom produced three little bouquets, all different in color, size, and construction.
“Why, papa! how very kind of you,” cried Fanny, who had not dared to receive even a geranium leaf since the late scrape.
“Your father used to be a very gallant young gentleman, once upon a time,” said Mrs. Shaw, with a simper.
“Ah, Tom, it's a good sign when you find time to think of giving pleasure to your little girls!” And grandma patted her son's bald head as if he was n't more than eighteen.
Thomas Jr. had given a somewhat scornful sniff at first; but when grandma praised his father, the young man thought better of the matter, and regarded the flowers with more respect, as he asked, “Which is for which?”
“Guess,” said Mr. Shaw, pleased that his unusual demonstration had produced such an effect.
The largest was a regular hothouse bouquet, of tea-rosebuds, scentless heath, and smilax; the second was just a handful of sweet-peas and mignonette, with a few cheerful pansies, and one fragrant little rose in the middle; the third, a small posy of scarlet verbenas, white feverfew, and green leaves.