"No; as long as the money is found in the bag the package may have been broken accidentally. Now burst open one or two of those other packages a little—so;" she took out a packet of letters and bruised their official wrappings under her little foot until the tape fastening was loosened. "Now give me something heavy." She caught up a brass two-pound weight, and in the same feverish but collected haste wrapped it in paper, sealed it, stamped it, and, addressing it in a large printed hand to herself at Laurel Hill, dropped it in the bag. Then she closed it and locked it; he would have assisted her, but she again waved him away. "Send for the expressman, and keep yourself out of the way for a moment," she said curtly.
An attitude of weak admiration and foolish passion had taken the place of his former tremulous fear. He obeyed excitedly, but without a word. Mrs. Baker wiped her moist forehead and parched lips, and shook out her skirt. Well might the young expressman start at the unexpected revelation of those sparkling eyes and that demurely smiling mouth at the little window.
"Mrs. Baker!"
She put her finger quickly to her lips, and threw a world of unutterable and enigmatical meaning into her mischievous face.
"There's a big San Francisco swell takin' my place at Laurel to-night, Charley."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And it's a pity that the Omnibus Waybag happened to get such a shaking up and banging round already, coming here."
"Eh?"
"I say," continued Mrs. Baker, with great gravity and dancing eyes, "that it would be just awful if that keerful city clerk found things kinder mixed up inside when he comes to open it. I wouldn't give him trouble for the world, Charley."
"No, ma'am, it ain't like you."