CHAPTER 21.
It was a week or two after the day in Surrey, that Bertha Cross, needing a small wooden box in which to pack a present for her brothers in British Columbia, bethought herself of Mr.Jollyman.The amiable grocer could probably supply her want, and she went off to the shop.
There the assistant and an errand boy were unloading goods just arrived by cart, and behind the counter, reading a newspaper--for it was early in the morning stood Mr.Jollyman himself.

Seeing the young lady enter, he smiled and bowed; not at all with tradesmanlike emphasis, but rather, it seemed to Bertha, like a man tired and absent-minded, performing a civility in the well-bred way.

The newspaper thrown aside, he stood with head bent and eyes cast down, listening to her request.
"I think I have something that will do very well," he replied.

"Excuse me for a moment." From regions behind the shop, he produced a serviceable box just of the right dimensions.
"It will do?
Then you shall have it in about half an hour." "I'm ashamed to trouble you," said Bertha "I could carry it--" "On no account.

The boy will be free in a few minutes." "And I owe you-- ?" asked Bertha, purse in hand.
"The box has no value," replied Mr.Jollyman, with that smile, suggestive of latent humour, which always caused her to smile responsively.