'There it is!' he said, adjusting it with great care. 'Not so much
as a leaf damaged. Full of buds!'
Caleb's dull eye brightened, as he took it, and thanked him.
'Dear, Caleb,' said the Carrier. 'Very dear at this season.'
'Never mind that. It would be cheap to me, whatever it cost,'
returned the little man. 'Anything else, John?'
'A small box,' replied the Carrier. 'Here you are!'
'"For Caleb Plummer,"' said the little man, spelling out the
direction. '"With Cash." With Cash, John? I don't think it's for
me.'
'With Care,' returned the Carrier, looking over his shoulder.
'Where do you make out cash?'
'Oh! To be sure!' said Caleb. 'It's all right. With care! Yes,
yes; that's mine. It might have been with cash, indeed, if my dear
Boy in the Golden South Americas had lived, John. You loved him
like a son; didn't you? You needn't say you did. _I_ know, of
course. "Caleb Plummer. With care." Yes, yes, it's all right.
It's a box of dolls' eyes for my daughter's work. I wish it was
her own sight in a box, John.
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