"Where did it come from?" said Fleda.
"Philetus fetched it--he found it down to Mr. Sampion's when he went with the sheep-skins."
"How do you know it's for me?" said Hugh.
"'Cause it's written on, as plain as a pikestaff. I guess it's a mistake though."
"Why?" said Fleda; "and what is it?"
"O I don't much think 'twas meant for him," said Barby. "It's oysters."
"Oysters!"
"Yes--come out and look at 'em--you never see such fine fellows. I've heerd say," said Barby abstractedly as Fleda followed her out and she displayed to view some magnificent Ostraceans,--"I've heerd say that an English shilling was worth two American ones, but I never understood it rightly till now."
To all intents and purposes those were English oysters, and worth twice as much as any others Fleda secretly confessed.
That evening, up in the sick room,--it was quite evening, and all the others of the family were taking rest or keeping Mr. Rossitur company down stairs,--Fleda was carefully roasting some of the same oysters for Hugh's supper. She had spread out a glowing bed of coals on the hearth, and there lay four or five of the big bivalves, snapping and sputtering in approbation of their quarters in a most comfortable manner; and Fleda standing before the fire tended them with a double kind of pleasure. From one friend, and for another, those were most odorous oysters. Hugh sat watching them and her, the same in happy simplicity that he had been at eleven years old.