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knew how long. She felt decidedly vexed at finding herself to be in the wrong, rubbed her nose impatiently, and waited in a temper to match the rubbing. "My Lord! how slow she is!" she thought. "Well, if I don't die of old age first, I presume I'll get my letters some time. Maybe." As a matter of fact, the door had blown shut behind Lucinda, and the latter personage was making her way, with well-hoisted skirts, around the house to the back door. She didn't pass the window where the Argus-eyed was looking forth; because that lady had strong opinions of those who let doors bang behind them without their own volition. Five minutes later the maid did finally appear with one letter. "I thought you was waitin' to bring to-morrow's mail at the same time," said Aunt Mary, icily. Then she found that the letter was from Jack, and Lucinda was completely forgotten in the pleasure of opening and reading it. DEAR AUNT MARY: It seems so strange how I'm just learning the pleasure of writing letters. I enjoy it more every day. When I see a pen I can hardly keep from feeling that I ought to write you directly. I think of you, then, because I'm thinking of you most always. It seems as if I never appreciated you before, Aunt Mary. I want to tell you something that I know will make you happy. I've never made you very happy Aunt Mary, but I'm going to begin now. I've got a place where I can earn my own living, and I'm going to work just as soon as I am strong enough. I'm as tickled as a baby over it. I'll lay you any odds I get to be a richer man than the other John Watkins. I reckon money was bad for me, Aunt Mary, and I can see that you've done just the right thing to make a man of me. That isn't surprising, because you always did do just the right thing, Aunt Mary; it was I that always did just the wrong thing, but I'm straightened out now and this time it's forever--you just wait and see. There's one thing bothers me some, and that is I don't get strong very fast. They want me to take a tonic, but I don't think a tonic would help me much. I feel so sort of blue and depressed, and perhaps that's natural, for Bob's away most of the time and I'm here all alone. It's a big house and sort of lonely and sometimes I find myself imagining how it would seem to have someone from home in it with me, and I find myself almost crying--I
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