It was late when she awoke, and Peterkin’s clock was striking eight when she went down to the kitchen, where she found Mrs. Crawford sewing, and a most dainty breakfast waiting for her on a little round table near an open window shaded with the hop-vines.  There was a fresh egg for her, with English buns, and strawberries and cream, and chocolate served in a pretty cup which she had never seen before, while near her plate was lying a bunch of roses, and on them a strip of paper, on which Harold had written: 

“The top of the mornin’ to ye, Jerrie.  I’d like to stay and see you, but if I work very hard to-day, I hope to finish the job on Monday and get my fifteen dollars.  That’s a pile of money to earn in three days, isn’t it?  I hope you enjoyed the garden-party.  If I had not been so awfully tired I should have gone for you.  Grandma will tell you that I went to bed and to sleep before that shower came up, so I knew nothing of it.  I wonder you got home; but of course Dick came with you, or Billy, or possibly Tom.  I hear you entertained all three of them at the washtub!  Pretty good for the first day home!  Good-bye till to-night.  I only live till then, as they say in novels.

    “HAROLD.”

This note, every line of which was full of affection and thoughtfulness for her, was worth more to Jerrie than the chocolate, or the bun, or the pretty cup and saucer which Harold had bought for her the night before, going to the village, a mile out of his way, on purpose to get them and surprise her.  This, Mrs. Crawford told her, as she eat eating her breakfast, which she had to force down because of the lump in her throat and the tears which came so fast as she listened.

‘You see,’ Mrs. Crawford began, ’Mr. Allen paid Harold two or three dollars, and so he came home through the village, and bought the eggs, and the buns, and the chocolate, which he knew you liked, and the cup and saucer at Grady’s.  He has had it on his mind a long time to get it for you, but there were so many other things to pay for.  Don’t you think it is pretty?’

‘Yes, lovely!’ Jerrie replied, taking up the delicate bit of china, through which the light shone so clearly.  ’It is very pretty; but I wish he had not bought it for me,’ and Jerrie wiped the hot tears from both her eyes, as Mrs. Crawford continued: 

’Oh, he wanted to.  He is never happier than when doing something which he thinks pleases you or me.  Harold is the most unselfish boy I ever knew; and I never saw him give way, or heard him complain that his lot was hard but once, and that was this summer, when he was building the room, and had to dismiss the man because he had no money to pay him.  That left it all for him to do, and he was already so tired and overworked; and then Tom Tracy was always making fun of the addition, and saying it made the cottage look like a pig-sty with a steeple to it, and that you would think so too; and if it