nd why is he puttin' pages and pages of
good reading like this must have in it in care of the fire fairies? Too
much alone, I guess! He's going wrong in his head. Nobody at themselves
would do sech a fool trick as this. I believe I had better do something.
Of course I had! These is writ to Ruth; she ort to have them. Wish't I
knowed how she gets her mail, I'd send her some. Mebby three! I'd send a
fat and a lean, and a middlin' so's that she'd have a sample of all the
kinds they is. It's no way to write letters and pitch them in the ashes.
It means the poor boy is honin' to say things he dassent and so he's
writin' them out and never sendin' them at all. What's the little huzzy
gone so long for, anyway? I'll fix her!"

Granny selected three letters, blew away the ashes, and tucked the
envelopes inside her dress.

"If I only knowed how to get at her," she muttered. She stared at the
pie. "I guess you got to go back," she said, "and be et by me. Like as
not I'll stall myself, for I got one a-ready. But if David has got these
fool things counted and misses any, and then finds that pie here, he'll
s'picion me. Yes, I got to take you back, and hurry my stumps at that."

Granny arose with the pie, cast a lingering and covetous glance at the
fireplace, stooped and took another letter, and then started down the
drive. Just as she reached the bridge she looked ahead and saw the
Harvester coming up the levee. Instantly she shot the pie over the
railing and with a groan watched it strike the water and disappear.

"Lord of love!" she gasped, sinking to the seat, "that was one of
grandmother's willer plates that I promised Ruth. 'Tain't likely I'll
ever see hide ner hair of it again. But they wa'ant no place to put it,
and I dassent let him know I'd been up to the cabin. Mebby I can fetch
a boy some day and hire him to dive for it. How long can a plate be in
water and not get spiled anyway? Now what'll I do? My head's all in a
whirl! I'll bet my bosom is a sticking out with his letters 'til he'll
notice and take them from me."

She gripped her hands across her chest and sat staring at the Harvester
as he stopped on the bridge, and seeing her attitude and distressed
face, he sprang from the wagon.

"Why Granny, are you sick?" he cried anxiously.

"Yes!" gasped Granny Moreland. "Yes, David, I am! I'm a miserable woman.
I never was in sech a shape in all my days."

"Let me help you to the cabin, and I'll see what I can do for y