But the woman shook her head. "No," she said, "that isn't it, at all."
"What did you intend to use it for?" asked Uncle Rob, patiently.
"Why, to write notes on, of course. I said note paper, didn't I?—just ordinary note paper!"
Uncle Rob stood and looked at her helplessly, and just then Dad came along and she saw him. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "here's Mr. Williams! Mr. Williams, I'm having such a time! I came in to get some note paper,—I'm copying some music, you know,—and your clerk doesn't seem to know anything about it."
Dad looked at Uncle Rob and at the scattered paper and boxes. "The music paper is in that drawer right behind you, Robert," he said; "Couldn't you find it? Chester, why didn't you tell him where it was?"
I started to speak; but Uncle Rob gave me a little glance, and I shut up; and he got out the paper and wrapped it, and handed it to her as pleasantly as could be.
Dad walked to the door with her; and we heard her say:—"Thank you so much, Mr. Williams. It must be an awful bother, breaking in new help."
