m?" says I. "What
made you let him go? You know it's against orders."

"Hi am quite hinnocent of hany hinfraction of my duties," says he. "On
the contrary, Hi've watched this Peanut dog most closely, sir. Yet at
times 'e is habsent. Hi'm of the belief that the notes come from the
hother side of the fence, sir. But has to their haddress, and has to
their contents, sir, Hi assure you Hi'm hutterly hignorant; and hit was
for that reason that Hi awsked you to come and see this one. Hit's just
at 'and, sir."

I taken all three of them letters away from him and opened them, me
being foreman; but when I begun to read I didn't tell William what they
was. I only laughed out loud, hard as I could.

"This is just a joke, William," says I. "Don't pay no attention to it.
You see, Peanut's been over there again, digging up some petunies," says
I.

I went back into the room where Bonnie Bell was. I looked at her for a
while.

"Miss Wright," says I--the second time I ever called her that--"I've
played the game with you on the square, haven't I? You thanked me for
that."

"Yes, Curly; yes," says she, "Why?"

"Have you played in on the square with me?"

"Yes, Curly, I have."

"I told you not to have nothing more to do across the fence, didn't I?"

"Yes. I haven't."

"Is that so, Bonnie Bell Wright?" says I. "Then what's this?"

I put in her hand the note--the one I'd read. It was my business to do
that, the way it come to me.

"Read it," says I to her.

Near as I can remember, it run about like this:

Why don't you come again? When shall I see you? I'm in the same
place every day and I wait and wait. Please! Please! Please!

It wasn't signed with no name--only just "The Man Next Door."

Bonnie Bell went pale as a sheet when she read that.

"Curly," says she, "I never saw it before."

I believed her. She'd of died rather 'n lie straight out to me. Maybe
she'd lie some--almost any woman would--but not straight out from the
shoulder between the eyes. So I believed her now.

"Read the next one," says I.

"Have you read my letters, Curly?" says she. She looked at me savage
now.

"I read one of 'em," says I, "and part of the next one. I didn't only
read the first page on that one. I didn't read the other one at all. But
I read enough."

On the first page of this second letter was something more:

I've waited and waited [it said]. I ought never to have met you as
I did--I ought never to have