s, who would like letters such as I
write. You know I can't be brief. I have tried and cannot. If you know
of any persons who would not tire of my long accounts and would care to
have them, you will be doing me a favor to let me know.

I have not treated you quite frankly about something you had a right to
know about. I am ashamed and I regret very much that I have not told
you. I so dread the possibility of losing your friendship that I will
_never_ tell you unless you promise me beforehand to forgive me. I
know that is unfair, but it is the only way I can see out of a
difficulty that my foolish reticence has led me into. Few people,
perhaps, consider me reticent, but in some cases I am afraid I am even
deceitful. Won't you make it easy to "'fess" so I may be happy again?

Truly your friend,
ELINORE RUPERT.

_June 16, 1910._

MY DEAR FRIEND,--

Your card just to hand. I wrote you some time ago telling you I had a
confession to make and have had no letter since, so thought perhaps you
were scared I had done something too bad to forgive. I am suffering
just now from eye-strain and can't see to write long at a time, but I
reckon I had better confess and get it done with.

The thing I have done is to marry Mr. Stewart. It was such an
inconsistent thing to do that I was ashamed to tell you. And, too, I
was afraid you would think I didn't need your friendship and might
desert me. Another of my friends thinks that way.

I hope my eyes will be better soon and then I will write you a long
letter.

Your old friend with a new name,

ELINORE STEWART.

X

THE STORY OF CORA BELLE

_August 15, 1910._

DEAR MRS. CONEY,--

... Grandma Edmonson's birthday is the 30th of May, and Mrs.
O'Shaughnessy suggested that we give her a party. I had never seen
Grandma, but because of something that happened in her family years ago
which a few narrow-heads whom it didn't concern in the least cannot
forgive or forget, I had heard much of her. The family consists of
Grandma, Grandpa, and little Cora Belle, who is the sweetest little bud
that ever bloomed upon the twigs of folly.

The Edmonsons had only one child, a daughter, who was to have married a
man whom her parents objected to solely because he was a sheep-man,
while their sympathies were with the cattle-men, although they owned
only a small bunch. To gain their consent the young man closed out his
interest in sheep, at a loss, filed on a splend