“Hadn’t you better keep those?” I asked. “Won’t he want them?”
“O no,” she said. “He’s outgrown them. And ’t is no use keeping them for moths to get into.”
She gave me some picture-books, and two primers, a roll of linen, and quite a good blanket, all of which I received thankfully.
In rolling up the different articles, I saw her eye resting so lovingly on the little uniform, that I said, “Here, grandmother, hadn’t you better take back these?”
“O, I guess not,” she answered. “I guess you better send them. But,” she added a moment after, “perhaps they might as well stay till you send another barrel.”
“Just exactly as well,” I said. And the old lady seemed as if she had recovered a lost treasure.
Aunt Phebe added a good many valuable articles, so that by the time Uncle Jacob was ready to start I had collected two immense bundles, and felt almost brave enough to face another barrel. For they all said they would beg from their friends, and save things, and that I must certainly come again.
“For you know,” said Aunt Phebe, “’t is a great deal better to hear you tell things than to read about them in the newspapers.”
They stood about the door to see us off, and Matilda stroked the old horse, and talked to him as if he understood. She broke off two heads of phlox, red and white, and fastened them in behind his ear. Uncle Jacob told me, as we rode along, that the old horse really expected to be patted and talked to before starting. And indeed I noticed myself that after being dressed up he stepped off with an exceedingly satisfied air, just as I have seen some little girls,—and boys too, for that matter, and occasionally grown people.