To Humphrey's horror, the woman put up her apron to her eyes, and began to cry.
"Oh! I'm so sorry," said he; "I didn't mean to make you cry, really. I see now you've got a cap on, so of course he's dead. I'm very sorry he's dead," he continued after a pause, "because I was going to say perhaps he would have been able to tell me what a grown-up man would like." Then, afraid he had been unfeeling, he added, "Of course, I'm sorry too, because it seems to make you unhappy. You don't remember, I suppose," he went on, doubtfully, and eyeing the widow carefully, to see how far he might go without fear of a fresh outburst, "what he used to like for his birthday presents?"
The woman cast her thoughts back to the memory of the defunct, and the prominent idea connected with him being tobacco-smoke, she suggested a cigar-case.
Humphrey was delighted at the idea.
"You don't mean to say they're in the window!" he exclaimed in despair.
The widow was obliged to admit that it was too true.
"What are we to do!" said Humphrey, dejectedly. "I know!" he added, the next moment running to the door.
"Father!" he shouted, "would you mind turning your head away for a minute, because we're going to get something out of the window."