But, alas for poor Harold's gift! Dick had watered it the last thing
before going to bed and the first thing in the morning, but the flowers
were limp and faded, and gave forth a sickly odor, while the leaves of
the roses were dropping off, and only the size, which was immense,
remained to tell what it once had been. But Jerrie singled it out from
all the rest, and held it in her hands until the exercises were over;
and that night, at a reception given to the graduates, she wore in her
bosom two faded pink roses, the only ones she could make hold together,
and which Nina told her smelled a little old. But Jerrie did not care.
They were Harold's roses, which he had sent to her, and she prized them
more than all the rest she had received. At little Billy's _heart_ she
had laughed till she cried, and then had given it to a young girl, not a
graduate, who admired it exceedingly. Tom's book she knew was exquisite,
and placed it with others, and thanked him for it, and told him it was
lovely, and then gave it to Ann Eliza, whose offerings had been so few.
A bouquet from Dick St. Claire and Fred Raymond, a basket from her
brother, and one more from _herself_, were all, and the little
red-haired girl, who, with her heavy gold chain and locket, and diamond
ear-rings, and three bracelets, and five finger-rings, had looked like a
jeweller's shop, felt aggrieved and neglected, and Jerrie found her
sobbing in her room as if her heart was broken.

'Only four snipping things,' she said, 'and you had twenty-five, and
mother will be so disappointed, and father too, when he knows just how
few I got. I wish I was popular like you.'

'Never mind,' Jerrie said, cheerfully. 'It was only a happen so--my
getting so many. You are just as nice as I am, and I'll give you part of
mine to take home to your mother. I can never carry them all. I should
have to charter a car,' and in a few moments six of Jerrie's baskets
were transferred to Ann Eliza's room, including Tom Tracy's book.

'Oh, I can't take that, Ann Eliza said; he didn't mean it for me; he
didn't give me anything, and I--I--'

Here she began to sob again, and laying her hand pityingly upon the
bowed head, Jerrie said:

'Yes, I know; I understand. Something from Tom Tracy would have pleased
you more than from anyone; but listen to me, Annie. Tom is not worth
your tears.'

'Don't you care for him?' the girl asked, lifting her head suddenly.

'Not a particle, as you mean. You hav