"You better ha' come to me for cheese. I've got a plenty, tansy
an' sage, an' you know it. I see it! There! you gi' me holt on 't!" It
was a fugitive white gleam in the bottom of the bag; she pounced upon
it and brought up a letter. Midway in the act of tearing it open, she
paused and looked at Solon with droll entreaty. "It's your letter, by
rights!" she added tentatively.
"Law!" said he, "I dunno who it's directed to, but I guess it's as much
your'n as anybody's."
Miss Susan spread open the sheets with an air of breathless delight.
She bent nearer the lamp. "'Dear father and auntie,'" she began.
"There!" remarked Solon, in quiet satisfaction, still warming his hands
at the blaze. "There! you see _'tis_ to both."
"My! how she does run the words together! Here!" Miss Susan passed it
to the schoolmaster. "You read it. It's from Jenny. You know she's away
to school, an' we didn't think best for her to come home Christmas. I
knew she'd write for Christmas. Solon, I told you so!"
The schoolmaster took the letter, and read it aloud. It was a simple
little message, full of contentment and love and a girl's new delight
in life. When he had finished, the two older people busied themselves a
moment without speaking, Solon in picking up a chip from the hearth,
and Susan in mechanically smoothing the mammoth roses on the side of
the carpetbag.
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