asional
short notes under cover of the old woman's more bulky and labored replies
to the girl. Since his misadventure these, of course, had been
discontinued, with the result that now, at last, Rosebud was asking for an
explanation.

In reading the letter aloud Ma avoided that portion of it which referred
to the matter. Her reason was obviously to keep her own plans from her
boy's knowledge, but so clumsily did she skip to another part of the
letter, that, all unconscious of it, she drew from her audience a sharp
look of inquiry.

Nothing was said at the time, but the following day, at supper, when Ma
and Rube were alone, the man, who had taken the whole day to consider the
matter, spoke of it in the blunt fashion habitual to him.

"Guess ther' was suthin' in that letter you didn't read, Ma?" he said
without preamble.

Ma looked up. Her bright eyes peered keenly through her spectacles into
her husband's massive face.

"An' if ther' was?" she said interrogatively.

The old man shrugged.

"Guess I was wonderin'," he said, plying his knife and fork with some show
of indifference.

A silence followed. Ma helped herself to more tea and refilled her
husband's mug.

"Guess we'll have to tell the child," she said presently.

"Seems like."

A longer silence followed.

"She was jest askin' why Seth didn't write."

"I kind o' figgered suthin' o' that natur'. You'd best tell her."

Rube rested the ends of his knife and fork on the extremities of his plate
and took a noisy draught from his huge mug of tea. A quiet smile lurked in
the old woman's eyes.

"Rosebud's mighty impulsive," she observed slowly.

"Ef you mean she kind o' jumps at things, I take it that's how."

The old woman nodded, and a reflection of her smile twinkled in her
husband's eyes as he gazed over at the little figure opposite him.

"Wal," said Rube, expansively, "it ain't fer me to tell you, Ma, but we've
got our dooty. Guess I ain't a heap at writin' fancy notions, but mebbe I
ken help some. Y' see it's you an' me. I 'lows Seth would hate to worrit
Rosie wi' things, but as I said we've got our dooty, an' it seems----"

"Dooty?" Ma chuckled. "Say, Rube, we'll write to the girl, you an' me. An'
we don't need to ask no by-your-leave of nobody. Not even Seth."

"Not even Seth."

The two conspirators eyed one another slyly, smiled with a quaint
knowingness, and resumed their supper in silence.

A common thought, a common hope, held them.