“I was wishing some of you young gentlemen would come,” she said. “They’re red currant and raspberry. You’re just in time.”
Polly’s ideas of our visits to the cottage were always connected with tuck, and she looked at me wonderingly when I said we had not come for that.
“There aren’t nothing more the matter, is there?” she cried, as she set down her tin.
I set her mind at rest by taking the packet from my breast.
“Is—is that for me?” she said, with her face flushing with excitement.
“Yes; open it.”
I saw her little red, rough hands tremble as she untied the string, and after removing one or two papers, all of which she carefully smoothed out flat, she came upon a thin morocco case.
“Oh, it’s earrings!” she cried; “and you two have bought ’em for me, because I—because I—because I—How do you open it? Oh my! It’s a little watch.”
“Yes,” I said, “a watch.”
“Yours, Master Burr junior?” she cried. “Oh, it was good of you to come and show it to me!”