The aegis & intelligencer. [volume] (Bel Air, Md.) 1864-1923, 1877-10-26
M is G elan O O III q.
The Letter.

"Any letters 2" asked the Widow Wads-
worth, turning from the counter to the
corner of the window over which swung
placard bearing the legend Post Office up
on it, and glancing through her spectacles
at the small row of jars which were made
to do duty as letter-holders. "Any letters
for our house, Mr.. Bristol ?"
Mr.. Bristol, the senior of that name, who
was too rheumatic to weigh groceries, was
deaf as a post, and had perhaps the least
natural talent for the reading of dubious
script that could be found in the person of
any living man and besides, could never
find his pectacles-roused himself from
nap in which he had been indulging, look
ed bewildered, and seemed for moment
dubious as to what he should do next
But seeing that Mrs. Wadsworth's eyes
were fixed upon the jars, decided that she
wanted letter, and reaching up, slowly
took few of them down, and with much
deliberation spread them before her like a
pack of cards.
"I've put my spccks some'rs," he said;
"but where / dunno. Look 'em over and
sort out what's yourn, Mrs. Wadsworth."
This was old Mr.. Bristol's style of per-
forming the business of country postmas-
ter.
And as it was an honest place, little harm
came of il.
Often people carried their neighbors'
letters to them, when they happened to
pass their gates, and the only registered
letter that ever yet had been sent to Korn-
hill was considered an insult to the COM
munity at large.
"They might ha' known no one would
ha' meddled with it," said the old post
master.
And the farmers talked the matter over
as they logged home side by side in their
wagons, and the summer visitor who did
the strange thing was made to feel the in,
dignation of her hostess.
But that was long after the evening on
which Mrs. Wadsworth asked if there was
any letters for cher house."
Peering over the little row spread before
her, she saw that there was one-a small
undergraduates in delicate hand to
flames Wadsworth."
THAT'S Jim," said the old lady "Who
can have writ to him"
There was no more.
She put her single epistle into her pock-
ct, pushed the rest towards Mr.. Bristol, and
nodded at him.
Mr.. Bristol nodded in reply, rejarred the
letters, perched himself upon his stool and
went to sleep again.
Then the younger Bristol helped the old
lady into her chaise, handed in her basket
of groceries, and she drove away, with the
letter in her pocket and queer feeling,
half fear and half anger, at her heart, as
she said over and over again, talking aloud
to herself, as the old white horse plodded
along the lonely road
"Who has writ to jim, l wonder ?"
Maggie, the maid, came out to carry in
the basket, when Mrs. Wadsworth stopped
at her own gate, and she herself walked
into the kitchen. .....
There was great fire there, and on il
the kettle was boiling, steam rushing from
the spout in one long stream.
Before this fire Mrs. Wadsworth stood
and warmed her hands.
81 wonder who has writ to JIM" she
said. "If thought it was that girl, I'd
throw it into the fire."
Then story she had heard of some ont
who had feloniously opened an envelope
by holding it over the steam of kettle
occurred to her mind ....