"They're well enough," said Medfield grudgingly. Then—with petulance: "I'm tired of them. I want them taken away—all of them!"
"Sick folks get notions," said Aunt Jane placidly. "Where shall I take 'em to?"
"Why, take them—" He looked about impatiently. "Take them where you usually take flowers!"
"We generally take them to the folks they're sent to." She leaned forward to the violets and touched them with cool, gentle fingers, looking at them kindly.
"There's something about violets makes me think of home places," she said.
"Would you like them?" said Herman Medfield. He was watching the cool, firm fingers with a quiet look—almost a pleasant look.
"Me?—Mercy, no!" The fingers withdrew to her lap. "You couldn't send 'em to me. I'm here."
"Yes, you are here—that's so!" He almost smiled at her. His eyes returned to the fingers resting in her lap. "I have not had a chance to thank you—for your great kindness the other night."
"You are welcome," said Aunt Jane.
"It wasn't any great kindness," she added after a minute, "I always do for folks that need me."