"Jeremiah, I want you to have something." Barlow reached down to the bottom of the box and brought out an object that he held toward Winthrop.
Winthrop looked at it and gasped. "An egg. A real hen's egg. I recognize it from the pictures." Winthrop looked up. "But I can't take it, John. I can't."
"I want you to have it, Jeremiah. I want you and Ann and Davy to have it. Now don't argue. I'll wrap it up and you take it right home."
Barlow turned and lifted a small box down from a niche. He lined the box with synthetic cotton and gently nestled the egg in the center. After covering the egg with another layer of cotton, he closed the box and wrapped it and tied it with a broad white ribbon under which he slipped a little card of cooking instructions. Then he handed the box to Winthrop. "Take it home, Jeremiah. I'll be up to see you sometime soon. Go on now." And he urged Winthrop off the counter and out the door.
Winthrop went, holding the box in both hands. As he worked his way through the crowds, he held the box to his stomach, turning his shoulders to meet the press of people. He was still holding it with both hands half an hour later when he entered his home.
Ann looked up, surprised. "Jeremiah, I didn't expect you home so soon." Her eyes fixed on the package. "What is it? What have you got?"
Winthrop walked to the table, put the package on it, and carefully began to open it without saying a word. Ann and Davy stood close to him; Davy climbed on a chair to see better. When Winthrop lifted off the top layer of cotton, Ann's eyes widened and she clasped her hands together and stared, silently.
"What is it, Daddy?"
"It's an egg, son. A hen's egg."