A group of girl clerks in a large dry-goods store were laughing and talking together, when there came down the aisle a small, gray-bearded old man, evidently from the country. He looked around him with eager interest as he came down the aisle, and the girls began whispering and tittering together.
“Grandfather Hayseed,” one of them said, derisively.
“Ask him how his crops are coming on,” said another.
“Guess I’ll see if he has any butter and eggs to sell,” said a third; while the fourth added: “I suppose he wants a yard and three fifths of ‘caliker,’ and will expect us to take pay for it in ‘garden stuff.’ ”
Approaching the counter, the old man bought several small articles, the girl who waited on him exchanging sly glances with her companions, as they still continued whispering and laughing together.
The old man carried in one hand a small, neatly-made basket, the lid tied down with a bit of blue ribbon. While waiting for his change, he lifted the basket to the counter, and said: “S’cuse me, miss, but I’ve got something here I’d like to give you, if you’d take it and divide it ’round ’mong them other young ladies there. You see, I’ve got a little gal to home ’bout your age, but she can’t walk nor caper ’round like other gals. Had a fall when she was little, and the doctors say she’ll never walk now; but she’s just as cheerful and happy as them that can walk and be strong, never complainin’ nor nothin’. She made this basket herself—makes lots of ’em—and every time I come to town, she has me bring one of ’em full o’ something to give to somebody that don’t know what the country’s like. Now this basket is full of the first that’s ripened of our airly August red apples, and some little posy bouquets she fixed up herself. It jest came across me that mebbe you’d like ’em, and you’re welcome to ’em. We live about forty miles out, half a mile from F——, an’ I’d be glad to have you all come out and stay over Sunday any time. Here’s the basket.”
The girl accepted it with a sober “thank you,” and walked toward her companions, as the old man went on his way.
“Well, it was real kind of him, wasn’t it?” she said.
“Yes, it was,” replied one of the girls, heartily.
“He’s a good old soul,” said a third. “I feel guilty for laughing at him.”
“So do I. What lovely apples! And here’s six little bouquets of wild flowers his crippled girl fixed up. See how she’s made the apples shine, too! I could cry for making fun of her old father.”
The faces of the girls wore a soberer look, and there was a mist about their eyes as they separated, each of them wearing the little bouquets, the gift of which had touched their better nature.