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