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The old man stopped at every car, placed a yellow sheet of paper under the windshield wiper and then started off again. Two cars away from the Lincoln, the shopping cart turned over on a loose cobblestone and pulled the old man down on top of it. The stack of handbills spilled out of the cart and the wind sent them skittering across the lot. |
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Kyna tossed her latest shopping bag into the Lincoln's trunk and ran over to help. With Cyrus on one side, she managed to get the old man up on his feet and right his cart. |
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She touched Cyrus's arm and whispered, "Oh, Russ, his things." |
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Cyrus took a long look at the old man's stained clothing, palsied hands and scab-covered face and decided that the old guy was probably no threat to anyone but himself. |
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"Okay." He rushed off to collect the circulars. |
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Kyna had to use both hands to lift the burlap sack into the cart. |
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"Thank you, lassie," the man said. |
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"No problem." Kyna smiled but was really watching Cyrus chase after the papers. |
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"No, no, kindness like yours is all too rare in the world today. Please . . . let me repay you." |
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He pulled a polished mahogany box about ten inches square out of the burlap sack. The top of the box was covered with strange gold letters and it fastened with a fancy brass swing clasp. He held the box out. "Here!" |
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"What's this?" Kyna asked, her eyes sparkling with delight. |
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"A pretty present for a pretty lady." |
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She accepted the box, startled by its weight and the way her fingers tingled when she touched it. But when she tried to open it, she found the clasp was stiff with age and at first refused to budge. She tried wedging her thumbnail underneath the clasp . . . |
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The nail had snapped and the sharp edge of the clasp had |
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