And now, how was it to be wrapped so that it could withstand the rough treatment of a long journey? She glanced at the clock. It was not yet noon-day.
Holding it face inwards under her arm, she started forth to look for counsel in this important matter. Mr. Wheelock, at the post-office, was one of her particular friends; he would be able to tell her exactly what was to be done.
She found that gentleman sitting on the steps of the post-office, smoking a calabash pipe, and sunning himself placidly while he waited for the noon mail.
“What have you got there?” he called out.
“I want you to tell me something, Mr. Wheelock.”
“How many calves’ tails it takes to reach the moon?” said the old man, facetiously. “No? What is it to-day, then?”
“I can’t tell you here. Come inside.”
He knocked his pipe out on the step, rose, and followed her as she skipped back to his little office.
“Now, tell me how to send this away.”
Mr. Wheelock took a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles out of the pocket of his grey alpaca coat, and put them on. Then he picked up the barrel top and looked at it in an astonishment that gave way presently to something like profound admiration.