Or fine fruit for Miss May Newt, with the same message.

Several times from her window May had seen who the messenger was: a young man with candid eyes, with a quick step, and an open, almost boyish face.

When the street was still she heard him half-singing as he bounded along--as nobody sings, she thought, whose home is not happy.
Solitary as a fairy princess in a tower, she looked down upon the figure as it rapidly disappeared.

The sewing or the reading stopped entirely; nor were they resumed when he had passed out of sight.

May Newt thought it strange that Uncle Lawrence should send such a messenger in the middle of the day.