ked me
about, and I've tried hard to write a nice letter, because you
were always so particular about it, I've looked in the
dictionary for all the words I wasn't sure of, and I hope you
will not find many mistakes. Do please, dear mama and girls,
write me long, long letters, because I get so lonesome and
homesick for you all. Every night when I say my prayers and ask
God to take care of you all, I can hardly keep from crying, and
sometimes I do, and then Bettine looks so sorry and most like
she wanted to cry too.

"The doctor that Uncle Ridley wants to have me see first, is
very sick, you know I told you, but he is getting better, and
perhaps I will not have to wait so long. Oh, my dear mama, I
know you ask God to let me grow straight, but please ask Him a
very great many times, so that He will be quite sure to hear. I
do.

"I am going into Staunton with Uncle Ridley to put this in the
office myself, so you will know it came right from me with a
kiss on it.

"Good-bye, my dear, darling mama and sisters,
"Your own
"JEANIE."

CHAPTER IX.

WHAT OLIVE HEARD.

Mr. Dane had closed his office at four o'clock. Nobody cared why he did
so, and when he informed his book-keeper that she could go home, she
never stopped to wonder why, but wiped her pens, straightened her desk,
got into her wrappings and went, with her mind fixed on a certain
picture that needed much that these two vacation hours could give.

It was snowing very hard, great blinding flakes that came whirling
defiantly into your eyes, nose, and mouth; almost preventing a necessary
amount of sight and breath: and they had collected to such depth, that
walking was a matter of much labor, and only a few plucky pedestrians
were out to enliven the quiet shrouded streets. Olive plunged rapidly
along with her head down and seemed more engrossed with her own
thoughts, than with any contemplation of the weather, for she whisked
the impudent flakes aside and seemed to be looking down at something
that was neither of earth, earthy, or of snow, snowy, but quite beyond
the realm of either. She was scowling much the same as usual only in
something of a puzzled way, that had less of the impatient dissatisfied
tinge to it than was customary. In fact she was thinking of that last
talk she had had with her mother, before Mr. Congreve went back to
Virginia, when she had r