"Well, I'm not going to try, if it's no use. But I
didn't know it had got to be the fashion to give shavings
instead of flowers. But there's some sense in it.
They can be used for kindlings when they get old, and you
can't do anything with old flowers. Perhaps he'll get
to sending 'em by the barrel."
Irene laughed for pleasure in this tormenting. "O Pen,
I want to tell you how it all happened."
"Oh, he DID give it to you, then? Well, I guess I don't
care to hear."
"You shall, and you've got to!" Irene ran and caught
her sister, who feigned to be going out of the room,
and pushed her into a chair. "There, now!" She pulled up
another chair, and hemmed her in with it. "He came over,
and sat down on the trestle alongside of me----"
"What? As close as you are to me now?"
"You wretch! I will GIVE it to you! No, at a proper distance.
And here was this shaving on the floor, that I'd been
poking with my parasol----"
"To hide your embarrassment."
"Pshaw! I wasn't a bit embarrassed. I was just as much at
my ease! And then he asked me to let him hold the shaving
down with his foot, while I went on with my poking.
And I said yes he might----"
"What a bold girl! You said he might hold a shaving
down for you?"
"And then--and then----" continued Irene, lifting her eyes
absently, and losing herself in the beatific recollection,
"and then----Oh yes! Then I asked him if he didn't like
the smell of pine shavings.
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