So Harold let her have her way, and felt an increase of self-respect,
and that he was something more than a common day laborer, as he ate his
steak and buttered toast, and drank the coffee, which seemed to him the
best he had ever tasted. Jerrie picked him a few strawberries, and laid
beside his plate a beautiful half-opened rose, with the dew still upon
it. It was a delicate attention, and Harold felt it more than all she
had done for him.
'Thank you, Jerrie,' he said, picking up the rose as he finished his
breakfast. 'It was so nice in you to think of it, just as if I were a
king instead of a jack-at-all-trades, but I hardly think it suits my
blue checked shirt and painty pants. Keep it yourself, Jerrie,' and he
held it up against her white bib apron. 'It is just like the pink on
your cheeks. Wear it for me,' and taking a pin from his collar, he
fastened it rather awkwardly to the bib, while his face came in so close
proximity to Jerrie's that he felt her breath stir his hair, and felt,
too, a strong temptation to kiss the glowing cheek so near his own.
'There, that completes your costume,' he said, holding her off a little
to look at her. 'By the way, haven't you got yourself up uncommonly
well this morning? I never saw you as pretty as you are in this rig.
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