too. This was the Sunday-morning longshoreman that was the pleasantest
to look at. "Where d' y' git hold of such stuff?" was his retort. (Yet
Barber smiled as he put on his hat. The boy was coming to time in great
shape these days, behaving himself, doing his work, learning to answer a
man right. A blind person could see the improvement. Who could say
truthfully that he was not raising the boy first-class?)

As the hall door shut behind Barber, Johnnie could scarcely keep himself
down in his chair. He wanted to look out of the window to try if he
could not see Cis. But he stayed where he was, and twisted away busily.
Barber might be at his old tricks; might open the door at any moment.
But also, just so many violets must be made of a Sunday, and just that
many would be made. A scout is trustworthy.

Yet just so many violets were not to be made, thus proving how uncertain
life is. For here came Cis, switching her way in importantly. She was
panting. She was flushed. Cautiously she shut the door behind her. "I've
been up on Mrs. Kukor's stairs, waiting," she half whispered. Under one
arm she was carrying a long, satiny-white box.

"_Another_ doll?" demanded Johnnie, astonished and disappointed. To him
any long, white box could mean nothing else. However, he rose, unable to
be entirely indifferent even to a new doll.

"Doll!" cried Cis, scornfully. She dropped the box on the table.

Then Johnnie saw that it was not a doll; for out of one end of the
box--an end that was open--extended a handful of long, slender, green
stems. The gift was flowers, tied, not with common string, but with a
flat, green tape which looked fully as expensive as ribbon, and nearly
as handsome. "Oh, gee!"--this as he seized the stems, not being able to
wait, he was so excited, and tried to draw the flowers from the box.
"Oh, Cis, d'y' s'pose these 're from One-Eye? D'y' think maybe One-Eye
is back?--Oh, hurry!"

"Wait!"--speaking gently, yet with something of a high-and-mighty air.
"Johnnie, you've got One-Eye on the brain." The cord untied, she slipped
the cover off the box. Next she swept aside a froth of crisp
tissue-paper which was still veiling the gift. Then together they looked
down.

"O-o-o-o-h!" It was a chorus.

Roses! Pink roses! A very pile of them, snuggling in the cool, delicate
greenery of ferns! Up from them lifted a fragrance that rivaled even
that of orris root. Cis leaned to breathe. Next, Johnnie leaned, all but
swelli