He had recited a beautiful poem to a pretty, coy girl, and in a grand, lordly way he believed himself to have performed a kind action.
The morning came, and they brought bright, blushing Dora to her work; again the little white fingers glistened amid the crimson berries.
Then Dora heard him coming.

She heard his footsteps, and her face grew "ruby red." He made no pretense of finding her accidentally.
"Good morning, Dora," he said; "you look as bright as the sunshine and as fair as the flowers.

Put away the basket; I have brought a book of poems, and mean to read some to you.

I will help you with your work afterward." Dora, nothing loath, sat down, and straightway they were both in fairyland.

He read industriously, stealing every now and then a glance at his pretty companion.