The face of the blind man was enraptured. “I told her once,” he said, “that I liked these old-fashioned music boxes, and that we used to have one that played ‘Bluebells of Scotland.’ I’ll bet this cost her something. They’re not so easy to find now, not those that are in good condition. There isn’t a single note missing, and I can feel how smooth the finish on the wood is. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Bertha Cool agreed that it was. “Josephine Dell sent it to you?”
“Of course. A messenger brought it and said that he’d been instructed to deliver it to me from a friend. But I know who the friend is all right. That isn’t all,” he said. “She sent me some flowers.”
“Flowers!”
“Yes.”
Bertha started to say something, then caught herself.
“I know,” the blind man went on. “It’s rather peculiar to send flowers to a blind man, but I can enjoy the fragrance anyway. I think she mainly wanted me to have the note that went with them, and she thought she could send it with flowers. The music-box is expensive, and she didn’t want me to know she’d done that for me.”
“What’s the note?” Bertha asked.
“I have it here,” he said, and took a folded note from his pocket. It read:
Dear Friend, Thanks so much for thinking of me, and even going to the expense of getting Mrs. Cool to find me. I’m sending you these flowers as a little token of appreciation and of my friendship.