e writing to you all the way from there?"

Miss Arabella suddenly crushed the letter into her pocket; her face
turned white. "I--I want a pound o' that green tea, Ella Anne,
please," she stammered hurriedly.

"Aren't you goin' to read it?" asked Miss Long, reaching for the
tea-scoop.

"I ain't in any hurry," faltered Miss Arabella, "but I want the
tea--quick!"

"Well, if you ain't a caution! Here, give it to me. I'll read it for
you, if you like."

"Oh, no, thanks, Ella Anne, I'd rather wait." There was panic in the
little woman's voice. "I--I _always_ wait quite a _long_ while before
I open my letters."

"Well, my gracious!" grumbled Miss Long. As she measured out the tea,
and bound it up, she kept an inquiring eye upon her customer, and could
not help seeing that she was greatly agitated.

"Well, sakes! I could no more do that than fly. Why, mebby some one's
left you a fortune."

Miss Arabella made no reply. She hurriedly tucked the parcel under her
shawl, and forgetting to pay for her purchase, made for the door.

"Likely Wes an' me'll be over to William's to-night for a sing, so you
can run in an' tell us all about it then," Miss Long called after her.

Miss Arabella paid no heed. Just now she cared not what the future
might hold, she must get beyond all prying eyes immediately, and see
what that letter contained. She ran along the sodden pathway,
splashing unheedingly through the mud and snow, and repeating to
herself, over and over again, that he must be living, he must be, after
all. Without waiting to take off her wet shawl, and all unheeding
Polly's loud and profane complaint that times were dull, she fled to
the safety of her spare bedroom. She pulled down the window-blind,
till the place was all in darkness, dragged the chair against the door,
sat upon it, and with shaking hand drew the letter from her pocket.
Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were shining like stars, and she was
trembling from head to foot. She opened the envelope with tender care
and unfolded the well-filled sheets. Her devouring eyes seemed to take
them all in at a glance.

No, he was not dead, and he had not forgotten her. But he had long ago
given up hope of ever seeing her again; he had felt he had no right to
trouble her--such a useless chap as he was. He had never found poor
old John McIntyre, nor had he succeeded in anything else, for he had
been sick, and had lost all his money, and had years of poverty t