"There are lots of things that can happen yet. But the wind and waves
have floated her little craft off the rocks, and the leaks in the boat
are stopped. If she doesn't spring any more, and the winds continue
favourable, we'll make port."
Jordan King looked as happy as if he had been the brother of this
patient of Burns's, whom neither of them had known a month ago, and whom
one of them had seen but once.
"That's great," he said. "I haven't dared to ask since I came here
myself, knowing how poor the prospects were the last time I did ask. I
was afraid I should surely hear bad news. When can we begin to send her
flowers again? Couldn't I send some of mine? I'd like her to have
Susquehanna there, and Rappahannock--and I think Arapahoe and Apache
will run them pretty close on lasting. Would you mind taking them to her
when you go?" His eyes turned to Mrs. Burns.
"I'd love to, but I shall not dare to tell her you are here, just yet.
She is very weak, isn't she, Red?"
"As a starved pussy cat. The flowers won't hurt her, but we don't want
to rouse her sympathies as yet."
"I should say not. Don't mention me; just take her the posies,"
instructed King, his cheek showing a slight access of colour.
"You won't know whether Susquehanna wins your wager or not," Ellen
reminded him as she obediently separated the indicated blooms,
magnificent great hothouse specimens with stems like pillars. That the
finest of all these roses, not excepting those she had sent herself, had
come from private greenhouses, she well knew.
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