It might have been a week later that Duncan was one morning hurrying down Elm Street upon a rather unusual errand. Mrs. McNair had the headache, and, being unable to fulfil a promise previously made, had chosen Duncan as her deputy.
Having no reasonable excuse to offer, he accepted the appointment graciously, but as he walked rapidly down the street, as if to have the business over with, he thought, "This is a queer thing to ask me to do. I sha'n't know a word to say. I wonder if a fellow ought to look very sober and solemn? Wonder if the boy is very sick?"
Halting at the door of a small house, he rapped. A sad-faced woman came to the door, to whom he said—
"Mother, Mrs. McNair, is sick this morning, and I came to inquire after the sick boy, and to bring this—" handing a small parcel.
"Thank you. Walk in."
As Duncan entered and sat down, he heard a feeble voice in the next room say, "Has she come?"
"No, Davy," the sad-faced woman replied. "She is sick, but she sent you this jelly and some oranges."
"They are very nice; she is very good, but I wanted to see her," was the reply of the sick boy. "Won't she come at all?"
"Please, sir," said the mother to Duncan, "will you walk in and see my poor boy? He is disappointed at not seeing the lady. Maybe you could say a word to comfort him."
"Are you her son?" asked the invalid.