Ramblers! A sudden remembrance darted through Missy's perturbed
brain. Her poor flowers--were they still out there? She must carry
them into the house with her! On the impulse, without pausing to
reflect that her action might look queer, she exclaimed: "Wait a
minute!" and ran fleetly across the moonlit yard. In a second she
had the bouquet out of the pitcher and was back again beside him,
breathless.
"I left them out there," she said. "I--I forgot them. And I didn't
want to leave them out there all night."
Jim bent down and sniffed at the roses. "They smell awfully sweet,
don't they?" he said.
Suddenly, without premeditation, Missy extended them to him. "You
may have them," she offered.
"I?" He received them awkwardly. "That's awfully sweet of you. Say,
you are sweet, aren't you?"
"You may have them if you want them," she repeated.
Jim, still holding the bunch awkwardly, had an inspiration.
"I do want them. And now, if they're really mine, I want to do with
them what I'd like most to do with them. May I?"
"Why, of course."
"I'd like to give them to the girl who ought to have flowers more
than any girl I know.
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