"I believe it was Chris Stewart," she said. "I know he was
over at Avonlea last night. And ma says he's taken a notion to
you--she knows by the way he looked at you when you were
singing night before last. It would be just like him to do
something queer like this--he's such a shy fellow with the
girls."

Sylvia frowned a little. She did not like Mattie's
expressions, but she did like Mayflowers, and she did not
dislike Chris Stewart, who had seemed to her merely a nice,
modest, country boy. She lifted the flowers and buried her
face in them.

"Anyway, I'm much obliged to the giver, whoever he or she is,"
she said merrily. "There's nothing I love like Mayflowers. Oh,
how sweet they are!"

When they had passed the Old Lady emerged from her lurking
place, flushed with triumph. It did not vex her that Sylvia
should think Chris Stewart had given her the flowers; nay, it
was all the better, since she would be the less likely to
suspect the real donor. The main thing was that Sylvia should
have the delight of them. That quite satisfied the Old Lady,
who went back to her lonely house with the cockles of her
heart all in a glow.

It soon was a matter of gossip in Spencervale that Chris
Stewart was leaving Mayflowers at the beech hollow for the
music teacher every other day. Chris himself denied it, but he