But Jerrie singled it out from
all the rest, and held it in her hands until the exercises were over;
and that night, at a reception given to the graduates, she wore in her
bosom two faded pink roses, the only ones she could make hold together,
and which Nina told her smelled a little old. But Jerrie did not care.
They were Harold's roses, which he had sent to her, and she prized them
more than all the rest she had received. At little Billy's _heart_ she
had laughed till she cried, and then had given it to a young girl, not a
graduate, who admired it exceedingly. Tom's book she knew was exquisite,
and placed it with others, and thanked him for it, and told him it was
lovely, and then gave it to Ann Eliza, whose offerings had been so few.
A bouquet from Dick St. Claire and Fred Raymond, a basket from her
brother, and one more from _herself_, were all, and the little
red-haired girl, who, with her heavy gold chain and locket, and diamond
ear-rings, and three bracelets, and five finger-rings, had looked like a
jeweller's shop, felt aggrieved and neglected, and Jerrie found her
sobbing in her room as if her heart was broken.
'Only four snipping things,' she said, 'and you had twenty-five, and
mother will be so disappointed, and father too, when he knows just how
few I got.
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