"Howld on, Jim!" Pearl cried, "don't you want to hear what ye'r goin' for? Take this box to Camilla—Camilla E. Rose at Mrs. Francis's—and she'll do the rest. It's flowers for poor Polly, sick and dyin' maybe with the fever. But dead or alive, flowers are all right for folks, ain't they, Jim? The train goes at ten o'clock. Can ye do it, Jim?"
Jim was brushing his hair with one hand and reaching for his coat with the other.
"Here's the money to pay for the ride on the cars," Pearl said, reaching out five of her coins.
Jim waved his hand.
"That's my share of it," he said, pulling his cap down on his head. "You see, you do the first part, then me, then Camilla—just like the fiery cross." He was half way to the stable as he spoke.
He threw the saddle on Chiniquy and was soon galloping down the road with the box under his arm.
Camilla came to the door in answer to Jim's ring.
He handed her the box, and lifting his hat was about to leave without a word, when Camilla noticed the writing.
"From Pearl," she said eagerly. "How is Pearl? Come in, please, while I read the letter—it may require an answer."
Camilla wore a shirt-waist suit of brown, and the neatest collar and tie, and Jim suddenly became conscious that his boots were not blackened.