He sniffed at them reluctantly and motioned them aside.
"And those foxgloves there——"
He was talking out all the bitterness that had been in him as he had lain and watched the great boxes opened and the flowers ranged about him—"exactly as if I were a funeral!" he finished up at last.
Aunt Jane smiled to him. "What would you like me to do with them for you?" she asked tranquilly.
"Do whatever you like. I don't care!" His indifference had returned and he looked tired.
She leaned forward a little. "I'm going to take out that head-rest," she said, "so's you can lie down."
She removed the frame from behind the pillows and shook them a little and let them gently back. "There—now you can lie down and have a good rest; and pretty quick now you're going to have some broth and then you'll go to sleep.... It don't do any good to get stirred up over folks' flowers," she said quietly.
"No." There was a little smile on his lips. He looked up at her, almost like a boy, from his pillow. "But it did me good to tell you!"
"I reckoned it would," said Aunt Jane. "Now I'll go get your broth for you."