you are sweet, aren't you?"

"You may have them if you want them," she repeated.

Jim, still holding the bunch awkwardly, had an inspiration.

"I do want them. And now, if they're really mine, I want to do with
them what I'd like most to do with them. May I?"

"Why, of course."

"I'd like to give them to the girl who ought to have flowers more
than any girl I know. I'd like to give them to you!"

He smiled at her daringly.

"Oh!" breathed Missy. How poetical he was!

"But," he stipulated, "on one condition. I demand one rose for
myself. And you must put it in my buttonhole for me."

With trembling fingers Missy fixed the rose in place.

They walked on up to the gate. Jim said: "In our school town the
girls are all crazy for brass buttons. They make hatpins and things.
If you'd like a button, I'd like to give you one--off my sleeve."

"Wouldn't it spoil your sleeve?" she asked tremulously.

"Oh, I can get more"--somewhat airily. "Of course we have to do