"Somebody fell in love
with you. I told you you looked handsome that night," and she
beckoned impatiently for the bouquet.
He surrendered it with a dubious look. She did not consider the
little tumulus of Flora, but devoured the name of the builder. Her
face turned crimson; and leaning over to one side, she dropped the
bouquet into the basket for cherry seed. Then she continued her
dutiful pastime, her head bent so low that he could see nothing but
the part dividing the soft brown hair of her fine head.
He sat down and laughed at her: "I knew you'd get me into trouble."
It was some moments before she asked in a guilty voice: "What did
you _do_?"
"What did you tell me to do?"
"I asked you to be kind to Harriet," she murmured mournfully.
"You told me to take her out into the darkest place I could find
and to sit there with her and hold her hand."
"I did not tell you to hold her hand. I told you to _try_ to hold
her hand."
"Well! I builded better than you knew: give me my flowers."
"What did you do?" she asked again, in a voice that admitted the
worst.
"How do I know? I was thinking of something else! But here comes
Harriet," he said, quickly standing up and gazing down the street.
"Go in," said Miss Anna, "I want to see Harriet alone."
"_You_ go in. The porch isn't dark; but I'll stay here with her!"
"Please."
When he had gone, Miss Anna leaned over and lifting the bouquet
from the sticking cherry seed tossed it into the yard--tossed it
_far_.
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