"I could send them to him, couldn't I? It would be proper to send them to him?"
"Yes—I guess it's proper," said Aunt Jane dryly. "I don't believe he's got any flowers in his room." Her eyes twinkled.
"I'll send them to him now—right off! You pick out a nice bunch for him." She reached to them with a happy gesture.
Aunt Jane bent over the forget-me-nots, her smile full of gentle chuckles. "We'll make him a nice bunch," she said cheerfully. She selected a few meagre blossoms here and there.
"You're not getting the best ones!" The little woman was excited and eager. "They're better on this side. See—there's one—and there!" Her face had the soft, clear color of happiness.
Aunt Jane drew out the flowers with half-reluctant touch and arranged them slowly. "Seems 'most too bad to spoil your bunch," she said.
"Oh, I like it!" The woman laughed a little tremulously. "I told you it kind of hurt me to have so many, and it's a way of thanking him, isn't it? Here, take this one!"
Her eyes were shining. "Don't they look nice! You tell him I thank him, please, and I hope he's doing well."
"I'll tell him," said Aunt Jane. Her eyes rested on the flowers. "I shouldn't wonder if he'd be real pleased with them." She held them off and surveyed them thoughtfully. "I'll tell him what you said and I guess maybe he'll get a good deal of comfort out of it. He needs flowers—and some one to think about him—as much as anybody ever I see."