The Song of the Blood-Red Flower Part 8

"Oh!" screams the girl. "Who is it? How dare you!" And with a scream she turns and sees him standing there.

"Good evening," says the young man, laughing, and raising his cap. And the looker-on notes how the girl only blushes, and makes no answer.

"Did I frighten you?" he goes on. "I meant no harm, I'm sure."

"'Tis no matter," says the girl. "I was only startled for a moment."

"And you're not angry now?"

"Nay; why should I be? For a jest?"

"That's right. I felt directly I saw you as if we were old friends--only I couldn't remember your name, so I thought I'd just stop and ask."

Oh, but 'tis a handsome lad--and such a smile, thinks the girl looking on.

"Pansy, they call me," says the other girl shyly, "but...."

"Say no more," the young man breaks in. "Pansy, they call you--'tis enough for me."

Surely then the name must be a good one, since he seems to like it so, thinks the girl looking on.

"And you...?" asks the girl. "You're a stranger, I think."

"Stranger?" cries the young man, with a laugh that echoes through the room. "Couldn't you feel it was a friend and no 'stranger' when my hands closed over your eyes?" And he looks at her with such irresistible friendliness as he speaks, that she cannot but smile--and the girl looking on smiles too.

"Olof's my name--and no stranger, if you please."

After that he seemed to be thinking for a moment, then suddenly he asks, "Are you fond of flowers, Pansy?"

"Yes, indeed. And I've two of my own--a fuchsia and a balsamine,"

answers the girl.

"Red flowers both! And do you keep them in your window?"

"Where else should they be?"

"And can you see them from outside?"

"Indeed you can, now they're in bloom."

"And where is your window, then?" says he, with a sly little gleam in his eyes. "Tell me, so I can see them too when I pa.s.s."

The girl opens her lips to answer, but checks herself suddenly. "Nay, I'll not tell!"

Oh, but how cunning of him, thinks the looker-on. Never was such a sly one. Anyone else would just have asked straight out where she slept.

And then of course the girl would have been offended at once. But this young man--he says never a word of anything but flowers.

"In the parlour?" he asks, with a laugh.

"No!"

"Up in the loft, then?"

"No, nor there."

"Then it's the little room at the back."

"No, no!" cries the girl, all confused. "Not there, indeed it's not."

The young man laughs. "I can't guess any more. But it's cruel of you not to tell."

And there again, mark the slyness of him, thinks the girl looking on.

Anyone else would have laughed out loud and said, "Now, I know!" and the girl would have blushed.

"Well, we're friends now, real friends, aren't we?" says he, after a while.

"'Tis early yet, for sure. But if so, what then?"

"Why, I was but thinking--if we were friends, I'd ask you--no, I won't ask yet."

"You can ask if you like, 'twill do no harm," says the girl, curious to hear.

"Only this--if anyone has ever--ever pressed your hand."

"No," says the girl, with a blush. "I'd never let them."

There again, so neatly put, thinks the looker-on. And how nice and frank and handsome he looks.

"Now, I wonder if that's true," says he. "But I'll soon see. Give me your hand a minute."

"What for?"

"Oh, I can read it, and find out all sorts of things."

"You?"

"Yes. Don't believe it? But you dare not try."

"Ho! Dare not, indeed!" And she gives him her hand.

Now what's going to happen, thinks the looker-on.

"H'm. It's true, by the look of things," says the young man seriously.

"No one has ever pressed your hand. But down there under the window--there's more than one that's stopped to look at your flowers."

"How do you--Oh, you don't know really, you're making it all up."

"Sh! I'm telling your fortune. Listen! But what's this I see? Well, I'd never have thought...."