mured low:

"Annie Grey! Sweet Annie Grey! I never dreamed of any one in this
place knowing or caring enough for me to send such a tribute. How
carefully these flowers are chosen! What a charming, appreciative
little girl she is! Pretty, I know, of course. I wonder how she came
to send me this? How shall I find her? Find her I must, and know her."

And Edgar Roberts fell asleep to dream of Annie Grey, and awoke in the
morning whispering the last words of the night before:

"Sweet Annie Grey!"

During the day he found it quite impossible to fix his mind on his
work; mind and heart were both occupied with thoughts of Annie Grey.
And so it continued to be until Edgar Roberts was really in love with a
girl he knew not, nor had ever seen. To find her was his fixed
determination. But how delicately he must go about it. He could not
make inquiry among his gentlemen acquaintances without speculations
arising, and a name sacred to him then, passed from one to another,
lightly spoken, perhaps. Then he bethought himself of the city
directory; he would consult that. And so doing he found Greys
innumerable--some in elegant, spacious dwellings, some in the business
thoroughfares of the place. The young ladies of the first mentioned,
he thought, living in fashionable life, surrounded by many admirers,
would scarcely think of bestowing any token of regard or appreciation
on a poor unknown student. The next would have but little time to
devote to such things; and time and thought were both spent in the
arrangement of his bouquet. Among the long list of Greys he found one
that attracted him more than all the others--a widow, living in a quiet
part of the city, quite near his daily route. So he sought and found
the place and exact number. Fortune favored him. Standing at the door
of a neat little frame cottage he beheld a young girl talking with two
little children. She was not the blue-eyed, golden-haired girl of his
dreams, but a sweet, earnest dove-eyed darling. And what care he,
whether her eyes were blue or brown, if her name were only Annie? Oh,
how could he find out that?

She was bidding the little ones "good-bye." They were off from her, on
the sidewalk, when the elder child--a bright, laughing boy of
five--sang out, kissing his little dimpled hand:

"Good-bye, Annie, darling!"

Edgar Roberts felt as if he would like to clasp the little fellow to
the heart he had relieved of all anxiety. No longer