as he dared as to what she should say and what she should not
say.

"Remember," he added, "not a word of this to anybody--especially to
Alice."

"I've probably got the youngster all mixed up with my fool directions,
but I believe she might make an impression on the uncle, if she can only
write as she talks. Bless her tender heart. Alice has one loyal friend
if she is small," he said to himself, unconsciously echoing Dr. Morton's
words.

Jane left Alice's flowers in the entry while she delivered the letter to
her mother, but she displayed her own tiny bouquet proudly.

"See what Mr. Harding gave me!"

"Mr. Harding is very kind. Was that what made you so late?"

"Yes, we stopped at the greenhouse to get them only I didn't know he was
going to get them--he just asked me did I think you would mind if I went
in there with him?"

"Well, that was very nice--run along--I want to read my letter."

Chicken Little hurried away to take Alice her flowers.

"For me--really?" demanded Alice: "Who sent them?"

"He asked me would I give them to you with Dick Harding's compliments."

The telltale "he" brought a flush to Alice's face and the "Dick Harding"
deepened it. Alice buried her face in the fragrant posy to hide her
embarrassment.

"Did he say anything else, Jane?"

"Yes, he said a lot. He asked me how you were and how Mamma was and if
we'd heard from Frank and Marian. He asked a lot about you----" Chicken
Little caught herself just in time. "I think he's just beautiful--don't
you, Alice? He walked most home with me and carried my books just like I
was grown up."

Alice hugged her by way of reply.

"I told him how you always saved the cookies for us and how Ernest said
you were a brick and he said Ernest evidently had good taste."

Alice's face took on several expressions during this recital. When the
child had finished, she said gravely:

"Jane, will you do me a favor?"

Chicken Little was all attention.

"Please don't say anything to the other children about what Mr. Harding
said or about his sending me the flowers--will you?"

Chicken Little readily promised though she looked disappointed. Secrets
certainly had their drawbacks.

She put her own flowers in water in one of her mother's best vases, a
white hand holding a snowy tulip, and stood off to admire the effect.
Then she soberly hunted up a box of tiny, vivid pink note paper, a much
treasured possession, and set to work on the fateful letter. She