But Fleda shook her head.
"Wouldn't do, aunt Lucy: he would do all he could, but he don't know New York, nor the papers; he wouldn't know how to manage it; he don't know uncle Rolf; I shouldn't like to trust it to him."
"Who, then? There isn't a creature we could ask."
Fleda laid her cheek to her poor aunt's, and said,
"I'll do it."
"But you must be in New York to do it, dear Fleda you can't do it here."
"I will go to New York."
"When?"
"To-morrow morning."
"But, dear Fleda, you can't go alone! I can't let you, and you're not fit to go at all, my poor child!" and between conflicting feelings Mrs. Rossitur sat down and wept without measure.