It was only little Jimmy, who peeped through the door, after knocking, to make sure that even his presence might not create some confusion, while that momentous toilet was in progress. He carried a mass of loose roses in his arms, white, golden-tinted, and red, some half open, some in full bloom, and others folded buds, clasped in with moss. No wonder Ruth uttered a glad cry, and clapped her delicate hands, gleeful as a child who suddenly finds its wishes gratified. No wonder Eva sprang forward, and put a hand on either side the boy’s face, and kissed him, rapturously, over and over again. “You darling! You boy of boys! Where did you get them?” she cried. “Oh! how could I be so careless?” In her eagerness, she had swept half, the flowers from Jimmy’s arms, and they lay at her feet, sending up odors that filled the little room. She stooped to gather them up, still questioning him. “Where did they come from, so fresh, and such long stems? There is one on your train; it seems to be buried in snow—such a lovely color,” cried Ruth, fairly trembling with delight. “Now I will make the dress perfect.” “Where did I get them?” answered James, emptying his fragrant burden on Ruthy’s couch, and kneeling down to gather up the portion scattered around Eva. “It’s a pretty way to find out, smothering a fellow with kisses, and asking him to talk. Well, if you want to know, a friend of mine gave them to me.” “A friend? Oh, James!” “Yes, I say it again—a friend. You have seen him, Eva, through an iron fence; gray hair; legs like broomsticks. Does it strike you?” “What, that old man?. No!” “I tell you, yes! He was watching for me by the gate. I’d been leaving some groceries in the basement, you know, and took a peep through the railing. Always do. The gate opened softly, and his queer old face looked through. ‘Come in!’ says he. ‘Have you got a basket?’ “‘No,’ says I. ‘The cook hadn’t time to empty it.’ “‘Well, come along; I want to send something to that pretty sister of yours,’ says he. “I went in, so astonished, that I was steering through the middle of a flower-bed, when he called out, ‘This way!’ and went on among a whole heap of bushes, just as full of roses as they could hold. Here he took out a great jack-knife, and cut away like fun, giving the flowers to me till my arms were full, and their breath made me long to dance. “‘Take them to the young lady,’ says he, ‘and say it wasn’t just old Storms that sent ’em, but some one else that——’” “Oh, James! did he say that?” “Of course he did, and more yet; but I’ll tell you that when we are all alone. It’s sort of private.” Here the boy made signs, and whispered mysteriously, glancing at his mother, who was retreating to the kitchen with a cloud of unusual darkness on her face. She saw in all these excitements only signs of disaster and separation. CHAPTER XXXIII. ABOUT THE ROSES AND VIOLETS.