“Thank you,” said the old gentleman, accepting it with his best air. “Now then, Jasper”—he had handed a small parcel to him under cover of the chair-wiping—“go ahead, my boy.”
So Jasper, seeing that there was no help for it, but that he was really to be the spokesman, plunged in quite bravely.
“Mrs. Corcoran, some of us girls and boys—we belong to two clubs, you know,”—waving his hand over to the representatives—“wanted to show your boys and girls, that we were grateful to their father for being so good and kind to the passengers that night of the accident.”
Here the little widow put the corner of her apron up to her eye, so Jasper hurried on: “And we wanted to help them to get an education. And so we had a little entertainment, and sold the tickets and here is our gift!” Jasper ended desperately, thrusting the package out.
“Take it, Arethusa,” was all Mrs. Corcoran could say; “and may the Lord bless you all!” Then she put the apron over her head and sobbed aloud.
“Bless me!” exclaimed old Mr. King, fumbling for his handkerchief, “don't, my good woman, I beg of you.”
“And, oh, I do hope you'll learn to play on the piano,” breathed Polly, as Arethusa took the package from Jasper, and slid back to lay it in her mother's hand.
“Oh me! I'm going to cry,” exclaimed Alexia, backing off toward the door.
“If you do, I'll throw you out,” said Joel savagely.
“Well, I shall; I feel so sniffly and queer. Oh, Joel, what shall I do? I shall be disgraced for life if I cry here.”