“Good-evening, John!” said the little man. “Good-evening, mum. Good-evening, Tilly! Good-evening, unbeknown! How’s baby, mum? Boxer’s pretty well, I hope?”
“All well and thriving, Caleb,” replied Dot. “I am sure you need only look at the dear child, for one, to know that.”
“And I’m sure I only need look at you for another,” said Caleb; “or at John for another; or Tilly, as far as that goes; or certainly at Boxer.”
“Busy just now, Caleb?” asked the carrier.
“Why, pretty busy, John,” he returned. “Pretty much so. There’s a lot of demand for Noah’s Arks at present. I’d like to be able to take more pains in making the families, but I can’t do it at the price. It would be a satisfaction, though, to one’s mind, to make it plain which was Shems and Hams, and which was wives. Ah, well! Have you got anything in the parcel line for me, John?”
The carrier put his hand into the pocket of the coat he had taken off, and brought out a tiny flower-pot, carefully wrapped in moss and tissue paper.
“There it is!” he said, adjusting it with great care. “Not so much as a leaf damaged. Full of buds!”
Caleb’s dull eye brightened as he took it, and thanked him.
“It was expensive, Caleb,” said the carrier. “Very dear at this season.”