"Busy just now, Caleb?" asked the Carrier.
"Why, pretty well, John," he returned, with the distraught air of a man who was casting about for the Philosopher's stone, at least. "Pretty much so. There's rather a run on Noah's Arks at present. I could have wished to improve on the Family, but I don't see how it's to be done at the price. It would be a satisfaction to one's mind to make it clearer which was Shems and Hams, and which was Wives. Flies an't on that scale, neither, as compared with elephants, you know! Ah, well! Have you got anything in the parcel line for me, John?"
The Carrier put his hand into a pocket of the coat he had taken off; and brought out, carefully preserved in moss and paper, a tiny flower-pot.
"There it is!" he said, adjusting it with great care. "Not so much as a leaf damaged. Full of buds!"
Caleb's dull eye brightened as he took it, and thanked him.
"Dear, Caleb," said the Carrier. "Very dear at this season."
"Never mind that. It would be cheap to me, what ever it cost," returned the little man. "Anything else, John?"
"A small box," replied the Carrier. "Here you are!"
"'For Caleb Plummer,'" said the little man, spelling out the direction. "'With Cash.' With Cash, John? I don't think it's for me."
"With Care," returned the Carrier, looking over his shoulder. "Where do you make out cash?"