"Well, I wish you would go and get them," said Mrs. Cliff, "and then wrap them up and take them to Miss Shott as a present from me."
"Take them to Nancy Shott!" cried Willy. "I never heard of such a thing in my life! She's able to buy blankets, dozens of them if she wants them, and to take to her such blankets as the ones you brought from California,—why it takes my breath away to think of it!"
"But you must take them to her," said Mrs. Cliff. "She may be stingy, but she is suffering, and I want her to have those blankets because they are the very best that I could possibly send her. You can get Andrew Marks to drive you there, but stop two or three doors from the house. She will think you are putting on airs if you drive up to the door. And I wish you would give her the blankets just as if it was a matter of course that anybody would send things to a sick person."
"Oh yes!" said Willy. "As if you hadn't a pot of jelly to spare and so sent her these blankets fit for an Emperor on his throne!"
That very evening the reluctant Willy took the blankets to Miss Shott, for Mrs. Cliff knew it was going to be a very cold night, and she wanted her to have them as soon as possible.
When Nancy Shott beheld the heavy and beautiful fabrics of fine wool which Willy spread out upon her bed in order that she might better examine them, the eyes of the poor old woman flashed with admiring delight.
"Well," said she, "Sarah Cliff has got a memory!"
"What do you mean?" asked Willy.
"Why, she remembers," said Miss Shott, "that I once joined in to give her a pair of blankets!"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Willy, and she was on the point of speaking her mind in regard to the salient points in the two transactions, but she refrained. The poor old thing was sick, and she must not say anything to excite her.