he sintiments,
wasn't they illigant? and the lan-gwidge was as foine as Pat Ronan's
speeches or Father--whist! will ye look at the flowers that shlip of a
gyirl's gitting! Count 'em, will ye?"

"Fourteen bouquets and wan basket," says the little woman, "and Mamie
Odenheimer, she got seventeen bouquets and two baskets and a sign.
Well," she looked anxious, but smiled, "I know of siven bouquets Tommy
will git for sure. And that's not countin' what Harry Lossing will do
for him. Hiven bless the good heart of him!"

"Well, I kin count four for him on wan seat," says the man, with a nod
of his head toward the gay heap in the woman's lap, "barrin' I ain't
on-vaygled into flinging some of thim to the young ladies!"

Harry Lossing, in the seat behind with his mother and Mrs. Carriswood,
giggled at this and whispered in the latter lady's ear, "That's Tommy's
father and mother. My, aren't they excited, though! And Tommy's white's
a sheet--for fear he'll disappoint them, you know. He has said his piece
over twice to me, to-day, he's so scared lest he'll forget. I've got it
in my pocket, and I'm going behind when it's his turn, to prompt him.
Did you see me winking at him? it sort of cheers him up."

He was almost as keen over the floral procession as the Fitzmaurices
themselves. The Lossing garden had been stripped to the last bud, and
levies made on the asparagus-bed, into the bargain, and Mrs. Lossing and
Alma and Mrs. Carriswood and Derry and Susy Lossing had made bouquets
and baskets and wreaths, and Harry had distributed them among friends
in different parts of the house. I say Harry, but, complimented by Mrs.
Carriswood, he admitted ingenuously that it was Tommy's idea.

"Tommy thought they would make more show that way," says Harry, "and
they are all on the middle aisle, so his father and mother can see them;
Tim O'Halloran has got one for him, too, and Mrs. Macillarney, and she's
got some splendid pinies. Picked every last one. They'll make a show!"

But Harry knew nothing of the most magnificent of his friend's trophies
until it undulated gloriously down the aisle, above the heads of two
men, white satin ribbons flying, tinfoil shining--an enormous horseshoe
of roses and mignonette!

The parents were both on their feet to crane their necks after it, as it
passed them amid the plaudits.

"Oh, it was YOU, Cousin Margaret; I know it was you," cried Harry.

He took the ladies over to the Fitzmaurices the minute that