"Serves us right; brothers and sisters shouldn't have secrets from each other."
"We never will again. Did you miss me very much?"
"Yes, Tom; very, very much."
"My patient little Polly!"
"Did you really care for me before you went?"
"See if I didn't," and with great pride Tom produced a portly pocket-book stuffed with business-like documents of a most imposing appearance, opened a private compartment, and took out a worn-looking paper, unfolded it carefully, and displayed a small brown object which gave out a faint fragrance.
"That's the rose you put in the birthday cake, and next week we'll have a fresh one in another jolly little cake which you'll make me; you left it on the floor of my den the night we talked there, and I've kept it ever since. There's love and romance for you!"
Polly touched the little relic, treasured for a year, and smiled to read the words "My Polly's rose," scribbled under the crumbling leaves.
"I didn't know you could be so sentimental," she said, looking so pleased that he did not regret confessing his folly.
"I never was till I loved you, my dear, and I'm not very bad yet, for I don't wear my posy next my heart, but where I can see it every day, and so never forget for whom I am working. Shouldn't wonder if that bit of nonsense had kept me economical, honest, and hard at it, for I never opened my pocket-book that I didn't think of you."
"That's lovely, Tom," and Polly found it so
