But in her excitement Jerry did not see the disapprobation
in the cold, proud eyes. She saw only what she mistook for enquiry, and
she answered eagerly:
'That's Harold--that's my brother! Oh, I am so proud of him!'
And leaning forward so that a curl of her bright hair touched the Boston
woman's bonnet, she threw the bunch of pond lilies which she had herself
gathered that day on the river at home, before the sun was up, and while
the white petals were still folded in sleep. For Jerry had come down on
the early train to see Harold graduated, and Maude had found her in the
crowd and sat beside her, almost as pleased and happy as herself to see
Harold thus acquit himself.
Maude's roses had been bought at a florist's in Boston at a fabulous
price, for they were the choicest and rarest in market. Harold had seen
both the roses and the lilies long before they fell at his feet. It was
a fancy, perhaps, but it seemed to him that it sweet perfume from the
latter reached him with the brightness of Jerry's eyes. He knew just
where the lilies came from, for he had often waded out to the green bed
when the water was low to get them for Jerry; and all the time he was
speaking there was in his heart a thought of the old home, and the
woods, and the river, and the tall tree on the bank, with the bench
beneath, and on it the girl, whose upturned, eager face he saw above the
sea of heads confronting him.
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