News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1885-03-12
The Letter.

"Any letters ?" asked the Widow
Wadsworth, turning from the grocery
counter of the "store" of Kornhill to thu
corner by the window over which swunf
a placard bearing the legend "Post of
fee" upon it, and glancing through he,
spectacles at the small row of candy jar,
which were made to do duty as lettel
holders. 'Any letters for our house
Mr.. Bristolp"
Mr.. Bristol, the senior of that name
who was too rheumatic to weigh grocer
les or measure calico, was as deaf as 6
post, had, perhaps, the least natura
talent for the reading OF dubious scrip
that could be found in the person of any
living man; and, besides this, could
never find his pectacles-roused himself
from nap in which he had been in.
dulging, looked bewildered, and seemed
for a moment dubious as to what he
should do next; but seeing that Mrs.
Wadsworth's eyes were fixed upon the
candy jars, decided that she wanted a
letter, and, reaching up, slowly took two
Of them down and, with much delibera-
ton, spread them before her like pack
of cards.
'I've put my specks some'rs," he said,
''but where I dunno. Look 'em over
and sort out what's yourn, Mrs. Wads-
worth"
This was old Mr.. Bristol's usual style
of performing the business of postmaster.
And as it was an honest place, little
harm came of it. Often people carried
their neighbors' letters to them when
they happened to pass their gates, and
the only registered letter that ever yet
has been sent to Kornhill was consid-
cred an insult to the comnitnity at large.
"They might ha' known no one would
ha' meddled with it" said the post
master.
And the farmers talked the matter
over as they logged home side by side in
heir wagons, and the summer boarder
Who did the strange thing was made to
eel the indignation of her hostess. But
hat was long after the evening on which
Mrs. Wadsworth asked if there were any
etters for cher house."
Peering over the little row spread be-
ore her, she saw that there was one-a
mali envelope-addressed in delicate
ady's hand to "James Wadsworth,
Esq.,"
''That's Jim," said the old lady.
Who can have writ to him %
There were no more. She put her
ingle epistle in her pocket, pushed the
est toward Mr.. Bristol and nodded at
Tim. Mr.. Bristol nodded in reply, re-
AIRED the letters, perched himself upon
stool and went to sleep again. Then
he younger Bristol helped the old lady
nto her wagon, handed in her basket of
,roceries, and she drove away,
With the letter in her pocket, and
queer feeling, half fear and half anger,
c her heart as she said over and over
gain, talking aloud to herself, as the
I'D white horse plodded along the lonely
oad:
"Who has writ to Jim, I wonder?''
Maggie, the "help," came out to
larry in the basket, when Mrs. Wads-
worth stopped at her own gate, and she
,erself walked into the kitchen. There
7as great stove there, and on it the
ettle was boiling, steam rushing from
Is spout in one long stream, and creep
ng in a fiat sheet from under the cover.
Before this stove Mrs. Wadsworth stood
nd warmed her hands.
ST wonder who has writ to Jim." she
aid. "If thought it was that girl I'd
brow it into the fire."
Then a story she had heard of some
ne who had feloniously opened an en-
elope by holding it over the steam OF
tea kettle occurred to her mind.
"I wonder whether it would open that
vay," she said. "It couldn't be any
,reat harm just to satisfy myself that it
sn't from her. Jim is but boy, and I
m his mother. I guess, according to
aw, I'd have right. I ought to, any
low."
Then the hand which held the letter
itself. The stream of steam
'eat against the flap of the envelope.
n moment or 80, it hung loose and
imp and wet in her hands,"
"TH go and put my bonnet away"
he said, in an unnatural sort of tone,
nd hurried upstairs.
81 am his mother" she said again, as
he sat down in her rocking chair and
rev the letter from the envelope. ''Its
light 1 should know"
Then she cast her eye over the writ
ng. There was not much of it. Just
his:
"DFAR JAMES: I know, after my con
Iuct, it is my place to write first. I wa
laughty. Please forgive me. Isn't that
tumble enough? And il you do, come
nd take me to the picnic tomorrow.
"Your own
"NELLY."
'It is from that GIRL" said Mrs.
Vadsworth. "It's from her. And
hings have gone SO far, and he hasn't
old his mother word Oh, how hard
is to bear That girl 1 don't want
i'm to marry; but of all girls, that one T.
nd she rocked herself to and fro.
"There's been quarrel" she said at
asst, "and she's written this to make up.
+ he never got it, he'd never speak.
now his pride. She come of poor
OF. I hate her; she's bad wife for
i'm. think it's my duty not to give it
o him. I'll think it over" Then she
pened the drawer of her bureau IL
which she Kept valuables and money