She was the treasurer of the literary society of the village, and I
was its secretary. We had to work together sometimes, and I found her
a very straightforward girl in her accounts and in every other way.
In about a minute she returned, carrying a little pasteboard box.
"Here are some one-grain quinine capsules," she said. "They have no
taste, and I am quite sure that if you get into a low country it would
be a good thing for you to take at least one of them every morning.
People may have given you all sorts of things for your journey, but I
do not believe any one has given you this." And she handed me the box
over the top of the gate.
I did not say that her practical little present was the only thing
that anybody had given me, but I thanked her very heartily, and
assured her that I would take one every time I thought I needed it.
Then, as it seemed proper to do so, I straightened up my bicycle as if
I would mount it. Again her fingers clutched the top of the two
palings.
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