"No, I gave them to her, with a lot of others; I couldn't bring them all."
Tom could have beaten the air, he was so angry. He had been vain enough to hope that his gift was carefully put away in some box or parcel; and lo! it was in the possession of that red-haired Peterkin girl, whose penchant for himself he suspected, and whom he despised accordingly.
"Much obliged to you for giving away my flowers," he was going to say, when Mrs. Crawford called again, and this time in real distress.
"Jerrie, Jerrie! you must come now, for here is Dick St. Claire."
For an instant Jerrie hesitated, and then, ashamed of the feeling which had at first prompted her not to let Dick into the wood-shed, she replied:
"If Tom and Billy can be admitted to my boudoir, Dick can. Send him in."
"By George, this is jolly!" Dick said, as he seated himself upon the inverted washtub which Billy had emptied. "Have you all been washing?"
"No," Jerrie answered, proudly. "I am the washer-woman, and all those clothes you see on the line are my handiwork."
"By George!" Dick said again. "You are a trump! Jerrie, why didn't you wear that dress when you were graduated? It's the prettiest costume I ever saw."
"Th-that's what I think, only I d-didn't d-dare t-tell her so!" Billy cried, springing to his feet and hopping about like a little sparrow.