e, black,
gray, and brown eyes were obediently fixed upon his awful countenance.

"Miss March, come to the desk."

Amy rose to comply with outward composure; but a secret fear oppressed
her, for the limes weighed upon her conscience.

"Bring with you the limes you have in your desk," was the unexpected
command which arrested her before she got out of her seat.

"Don't take all," whispered her neighbor, a young lady of great presence
of mind.

Amy hastily shook out half a dozen, and laid the rest down before Mr.
Davis, feeling that any man possessing a human heart would relent when
that delicious perfume met his nose. Unfortunately, Mr. Davis
particularly detested the odor of the fashionable pickle, and disgust
added to his wrath.

"Is that all?"

"Not quite," stammered Amy.

"Bring the rest, immediately."

With a despairing glance at her set she obeyed.

"You are sure there are no more?"

"I never lie, sir."

"So I see. Now take these disgusting things, two by two, and throw them
out of the window."

There was a simultaneous sigh, which created quite a little gust as the
last hope fled, and the treat was ravished from their longing lips.
Scarlet with shame and anger, Amy went to and fro twelve mortal times;
and as each doomed couple, looking, oh, so plump and juicy! fell from
her reluctant hands, a shout from the street completed the anguish of
the girls, for it told them that their feast was being exulted over by
the little Irish children, who were their sworn foes. This--this was too
much; all flashed indignant or appealing glances at the inexorable
Davis, and one passionate lime-lover burst into tears.

As Amy returned from her last trip, Mr. Davis gave a portentous "hem,"
and said, in his most impressive manner:--

"Young ladies, you remember what I said to you a week ago. I am sorry
this has happened; but I never allow my rules to be infringed, and I
_never_ break my word. Miss March, hold out your hand."

Amy started, and put both hands behind her, turning on him an imploring
look, which pleaded for her better than the words she could not utter.
She was rather a favorite with "old Davis," as of course he was called,
and it's my private belief that he _would_ have broken his word if the
indignation of one irrepressible young lady had not found vent in a
hiss. That hiss, faint as it was, irritated the irascible gentleman, and
sealed the culprit's fate.

"Your hand, Miss March!" was the only an