ning, mum! Good
evening, Tilly! Good evening, Unbeknown! How's Baby, mum? Boxer's pretty
well I hope?"

"All thriving, Caleb," replied Dot. "I am sure you need only look at the
dear child, for one, to know that."

"And I'm sure I need only look at you for another," said Caleb.

He didn't look at her, though; he had a wandering and thoughtful eye,
which seemed to be always projecting itself into some other time and
place, no matter what he said; a description which will equally apply to
his voice.

"Or at John for another," said Caleb. "Or at Tilly, as far as that goes.
Or certainly at Boxer."

"Busy just now, Caleb?" asked the Carrier.

"Why, pretty well, John," he returned, with the distraught air of a man
who was casting about for the Philosopher's stone, at least. "Pretty
much so. There's rather a run on Noah's Arks at present. I could have
wished to improve on the Family, but I don't see how it's to be done at
the price. It would be a satisfaction to one's mind to make it clearer
which was Shems and Hams, and which was Wives. Flies an't on that scale,
neither, as compared with elephants, you know! Ah, well! Have you got
anything in the parcel line for me, John?"

The Carrier put his hand into a pocket of the coat he had taken off; and
brought out, carefully preserved in moss and paper, a tiny flower-pot.

"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, what ever 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
daughters' work. I wish it was her own sight in a box, John."

"I wish it was, or could be!" cried the Carrier.

"Thankee," said the little man.