lovely nosegay, and glanced at a note half hidden in the
heliotrope.

Now, if Polly had n't been "stupid," as Fan said, she would have had
her wits about her, and let it pass; but, you see, Polly was an honest
little soul and it never occurred to her that there was any need of
concealment, so she answered in her straightforward way, "Oh, they ain't
for me, sir; they are for Fan; from Mr. Frank, I guess. She 'll be so
pleased."

"That puppy sends her things of this sort, does he?" And Mr. Shaw looked
far from pleased as he pulled out the note, and coolly opened it.

Polly had her doubts about Fan's approval of that "sort of thing," but
dared not say a word, and stood thinking how she used to show her father
the funny valentines the boys sent her, and how they laughed over them
together. But Mr. Shaw did not laugh when he had read the sentimental
verses accompanying the bouquet, and his face quite scared Polly, as he
asked, angrily, "How long has this nonsense been going on?"

"Indeed, sir, I don't know. Fan does n't mean any harm. I wish I had n't
said anything!" stammered Polly, remembering the promise given to Fanny
the day of the concert. She had forgotten all about it and had become
accustomed to see the "big boys," as she called Mr. Frank and his
friends, with the girls on all occasions. Now, it suddenly occurred to
her that Mr. Shaw did n't like such amusements, and had forbidden Fan to
indulge in them. "Oh, dear! how mad she will be. Well, I can't help it.
Girls should n't have secrets from their fathers, then there would n't
be any fuss," thought Polly, as she watched Mr. Shaw twist up the pink
note and poke it back among the flowers which he took from her, saying,
shortly, "Send Fanny to me in the library."

"Now you 've done it, you stupid thing!" cried Fanny, both angry and
dismayed, when Polly delivered the message.

"Why, what else could I do?" asked Polly, much disturbed.

"Let him think the bouquet was for you; then there'd have been no
trouble."

"But that would have been doing a lie, which is most as bad as telling
one."

"Don't be a goose. You 've got me into a scrape, and you ought to help
me out."

"I will if I can; but I won't tell lies for anybody!" cried Polly,
getting excited.

"Nobody wants you to just hold, your tongue, and let me manage."

"Then I 'd better not go down," began Polly, when a stern voice from
below called, like Bluebeard, "Are you coming down?"

"Yes, sir," answ