gave her at Vassar? They
were not with her on the car, unless she hid them in the paper box she
carried so carefully. Yes, I guess they were there, and I shall see them
standing around some where.'

And this was the secret of Tom's early call. He had thought at first to
walk, but had changed his mind, and driven down to the cottage in his
light buggy, with the intention of asking Jerrie to drive with him along
the river road. But she did not look much like driving as she stood
there by the wash-tub in that working-dress, which he thought the most
charming of anything he had ever seen, notwithstanding his chagrin that
the future Mrs. Tom Tracy should ever come in contact with anything as
vulgar as soapsuds and pounding barrels. How beautiful she was in that
short dress, with her bare arms, the whitest he had ever seen, and how
pretty her feet looked in the red stockings and slippers, which he
would have sworn were threes instead of fours and a half.

'I was coming this way,' he said at last, 'and thought I'd stop and see
how you stood the journey, and I've brought you some roses.'

He held them toward her, and with a bright smile she came forward to
receive them.

'Oh, thank you, Tom,' she said, 'it was so kind in you. Roses are my
favorites after the white pond lilies, and these are very sweet.'

She buried her face in them two or three times, and then, putting them
in some water, resumed her position by the wash-tub.

'I'd like you to drive with me,' Tom said, 'but I see you are too busy.
Must you do that work, Jerrie? Can't somebody--can't your grandmother do
it for you?'

'Grandmother! That old lady do my washing! No, indeed!' Jerrie answered,
scornfully, as she made a dive into the boiler with the clothes-stick
and brought out a pair of Mrs. Crawford's long knit stockings, and
dropped them into the rinsing water with a splash.

'Grandma has worked enough,' she continued, as she plunged both her arms
into the water. 'Harold and I shall take care of her now. He was up this
morning at four o'clock, and has gone to Mr. Allen's, four miles away,
to paint a room for him like mine.'

She said this a little defiantly, for she felt hot and resentful that
Tom Tracy should be sitting there at his ease, while Harold was
literally working for his daily bread, and also took a kind of bitter
pride in letting Tom know that she was not ashamed of Harold's work.

'Yes,' Tom drawled, 'that new room must have cost Hal his b