“Why, I didn’t know that was the way a beautiful smell looked! I—it’s very nice, isn’t it? If it’s Uncle Larry’s, I’m goin’ to ask him— Oh, Uncle Larry, can I have it? Can I? I want to put it in Her—” But he caught himself up before he got quite to “Treasury Box.” He could not tell Uncle Larry about that.
The tall figure coming down the hall quickened its steps to a leap towards the opened box on the table. Uncle Larry’s face was flushed, but he laughed—he always laughed.
“You little ‘thafe o’ the wurruld’!” he called out. “What are you doing with my roses?”
“I want ’em—please,” persisted the child, eagerly, thinking of the Treasury Box and Her.
“Oh, you do, do you? But they’re not for the likes o’ you.”
Sudden inspiration came to the Little Lover. If this was a Treasury Box,—if he were right on the edge of finding out how you gave one—
“Is—is it for a She?” he asked, breathless with interest.
“A—‘She’?” laughed Uncle Larry, but something as faint and tender as the beautiful smell was creeping into his face. “Yes, it is for a She, Reggie,—the most beautiful She in the world,” he added, gently. He was wrapping the beautiful smell again in the tissue wrappings.
Then it was a Treasury Box. Then you did the treasures up that way, in thin, rattly paper like that. Then what did you do? But he would find out.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” he murmured. “I didn’t know that was the way! Do you send it by the ’spressman, then, Uncle Larry,—to—to Her, you know? With Her name on?”