X. Love Letters
"A week!" Ruth said to herself the next morning. "Seven long days! Noletter, because he mustn't write, no telegram, because there's no officewithin ten miles--nothing to do but wait!"
When she went down to breakfast, Hepsey did not seem to hear her cheerygreeting, but was twisting her apron and walking about restlessly. "MissThorne," she said, at length, "did you ever get a love letter?"
"Why, yes, of course," laughed Ruth. "Every girl gets love letters."
Hepsey brightened visibly, then inquired, with great seriousness: "Canyou read writin', Miss Thorne?"
"That depends on the writing."
"Yes'm, it does so. I can read some writin'--I can read Miss Hathaway'swritin', and some of the furrin letters she's had, but I got some thismornin' I can't make out, nohow."
"Where did you find 'writing' this morning? It's too early for the mail,isn't it?"
"Yes'm. It was stuck under the kitchen winder." Hepsey looked up at theceiling in an effort to appear careless, and sighed. Then she clutchedviolently at the front of her blue gingham dress, immediately repentingof her rashness. Ruth was inwardly amused but asked no helpfulquestions.
Finally, Hepsey took the plunge. "Would you mind tryin' to make out somewritin' I've got, Miss Thorne?"
"Of course not--let me see it."
Hepsey extracted a letter from the inmost recesses of her attire andstood expectantly, with her hands on her hips.
"Why, it's a love letter!" Ruth exclaimed.
"Yes'm. When you get through readin' it to yourself, will you read itout loud?"
The letter, which was written on ruled note paper, bore every evidenceof care and thought. "Hepsey," it began, and, on the line below, with agreat flourish under it, "Respected Miss" stood, in large capitals.
"Although it is now but a short interval," Ruth read, "since mydelighted eyes first rested on your beautiful form--"
"Five year!" interjected Hepsey.
"--yet I dare to hope that you will receive graciously what I am aboutto say, as I am assured you will, if you reciprocate the sentimentswhich you have aroused in my bosom.
"In this short time, dear Miss, brief though it is, yet it has provedamply sufficient for my heart to go out to you in a yearning love whichI have never before felt for one of your sex. Day by day and night bynight your glorious image has followed me."
"That's a lie," interrupted Hepsey, "he knows I never chased himnowheres, not even when he took that red-headed Smith girl to theSunday-school picnic over to the Ridge, a year ago come August."
"Those dark tresses have entwined my soul in their silken meshes, thosedeep eyes, that have borrowed their colour from Heaven's ceruleanblue, and those soft white hands, that have never been roughened byuncongenial toil, have been ever present in my dreams."
Ruth paused for a moment, overcome by her task, but Hepsey's face wasradiant. "Hurry up, Miss Thorne," she said, impatiently.
"In short, Dear Miss, I consider you the most surpassingly lovely ofyour kind, and it is with pride swelling in my manly bosom that I dareto ask so peerless a jewel for her heart and hand.
"My parentage, birth, and breeding are probably known to you, but shouldany points remain doubtful, I will be pleased to present references asto my character and standing in the community.
"I await with impatience, Madam, your favourable answer to my plea. Restassured that if you should so honour me as to accept my proposal, I willendeavour to stand always between you and the hard, cruel world, asyour faithful shield. I will also endeavour constantly to give you ahappiness as great as that which will immediately flood my bing uponreceipt of your blushing acceptance.
"I remain, Dear Miss, your devoted lover and humble servant,
"JOSEPH PENDLETON, ESQ."
"My! My!" ejaculated Hepsey. "Ain't that fine writin'!"
"It certainly is," responded Miss Thorne, keeping her face straight withdifficulty.
"Would you mind readin' it again?"
She found the second recital much easier, since she was partiallyaccustomed to the heavy punctuation marks and shaded flourishes. Atfirst, she had connected Winfield with the effusion, but second thoughtplaced the blame where it belonged--at the door of a "Complete LetterWriter."
"Miss Thorne," said Hepsey, hesitating.
"Yes?"
"Of course, I'd like my answer to be as good writin' as his'n."
"Naturally."
"Where d'you s'pose he got all that lovely grammar?"
"Grammar is a rare gift, Hepsey."
"Yes'm,'t is so. Miss Thorne, do you guess you could write as good asthat?"
"I'd be willing to try," returned Ruth, with due humility.
Hepsey thought painfully for a few moments. "I'd know jest what I'dbetter say. Now, last night, I give Joe a hint, as you may say, but Iwouldn't want him to think I'd jest been a-waitin' for him."
"No, of course not."
"Ain't it better to keep him in suspense, as you may say?"
"Far better, Hepsey; he'll think more of you."
"Then I'll jest write that I'm willin' to think it over, and if you'llput it on a piece of paper fer me, I'll write it out with ink. I've gottwo sheets of paper jest like this, with nice blue lines onto it, thatI've been a-savin' fer a letter, and Miss Hathaway, she's got ink."
Ruth sat down to compose an answer which should cast a shadow over the"Complete Letter Writer." Her pencil flew over the rough copy paper withlightning speed, while Hepsey stood by in amazement.
"Listen," she said, at length, "how do you like this?"
"MR. JOSEPH PENDLETON--
"Respected Sir: Although your communication of recent date was a greatsurprise to me, candour compels me to confess that it was not entirelydisagreeable. I have observed, though with true feminine delicacy, thatyour affections were inclined to settle in my direction, and have notrepelled your advances.
"Still, I do not feel that as yet we are sufficiently acquainted torender immediate matrimony either wise or desirable, and since thesuddenness of your proposal has in a measure taken my breath away, Imust beg that you will allow me a proper interval in which to considerthe matter, and, in the meantime, think of me simply as your dearestfriend.
"I may add, in conclusion, that your character and standing in thecommunity are entirely satisfactory to me. Thanking you for the honouryou have conferred upon me, believe me, Dear Sir,
"Your sincere friend,
"HEPSEY."
"My!" exclaimed Hepsey, with overmastering pride; "ain't that beautiful!It's better than his'n, ain't it?"
"I wouldn't say that," Ruth replied, with proper modesty, "but I thinkit will do."
"Yes'm. 'Twill so. Your writin' ain't nothin' like Joe's," shecontinued, scanning it closely, "but it's real pretty." Then a brightidea illuminated her countenance. "Miss Thorne, if you'll write it outon the note paper with a pencil, I can go over it with the ink, andafterward, when it's dry, I'll rub out the pencil. It'll be my writin'then, but it'll look jest like yours."
"All right, Hepsey."
She found it difficult to follow the lines closely, but at lengthachieved a respectable result. "I'll take good care of it," Hepsey said,wrapping the precious missive in a newspaper, "and this afternoon, whenI get my work done up, I'll fix it. Joe'll be surprised, won't he?"
Late in the evening, when Hepsey came to Ruth, worn with theunaccustomed labours of correspondence, and proudly displayed thenondescript epistle, she was compelled to admit that unless Joe hadsuperhuman qualities he would indeed "be surprised."
The next afternoon Ruth went down to Miss Ainslie's. "You've beenneglecting me, dear," said that gentle soul, as she opened the door.
"I haven't meant to," returned Ruth, conscience-stricken, as sheremembered how long it had been since the gate of the old-fashionedgarden had swung on its hinges for her.
A quiet happiness had settled down upon Ruth and the old perturbedspirit was gone, but Miss Ainslie was subtly different. "I feel as ifsomet
hing was going to happen," she said.
"Something nice?"
"I--don't know." The sweet face was troubled and there were fine linesabout the mouth, such as Ruth had never seen there before.
"You're nervous, Miss Ainslie--it's my turn to scold now."
"I never scolded you, did I deary?"
"You couldn't scold anybody--you're too sweet. You're not unhappy, areyou, Miss Ainslie?"
"I? Why, no! Why should I be unhappy?" Her deep eyes were fixed uponRuth.
"I--I didn't know," Ruth answered, in confusion.
"I learned long ago," said Miss Ainslie, after a little, "that we may behappy or not, just as we choose. Happiness is not a circumstance, nor aset of circumstances; it's only a light, and we may keep it burning ifwe will. So many of us are like children, crying for the moon, insteadof playing contentedly with the few toys we have. We're always hopingfor something, and when it does n't come we fret and worry; whenit does, why there's always something else we'd rather have. Wedeliberately make nearly all of our unhappiness, with our ownunreasonable discontent, and nothing will ever make us happy, deary,except the spirit within."
"But, Miss Ainslie," Ruth objected, "do you really think everybody canbe happy?"
"Of course--everybody who wishes to be. Some people are happier whenthey're miserable. I don't mean, deary, that it's easy for any of us,and it's harder for some than for others, all because we never growup. We're always children--our playthings are a little different, that'sall."
"'Owning ourselves forever children,' quoted Ruth, "'gathering pebbleson a boundless shore.'"
"Yes, I was just thinking of that. A little girl breaks her doll, andthough the new one may be much prettier, it never wholly fills thevacant place, and it's that way with a woman's dream." The sweet voicesank into a whisper, followed by a lingering sigh.
"Miss Ainslie," said Ruth, after a pause, "did you know my mother?"
"No, I didn't, deary--I'm sorry. I saw her once or twice, but she wentaway, soon after we came here."
"Never mind," Ruth said, hurriedly, for Mrs. Thorne's family had neverforgiven her runaway marriage.
"Come into the garden," Miss Ainslie suggested, and Ruth followedher, willingly, into the cloistered spot where golden lilies tinkled,thrushes sang, and every leaf breathed peace.
Miss Ainslie gathered a bit of rosemary, crushing it between her whitefingers. "See," she said, "some of us are like that it takes a blow tofind the sweetness in our souls. Some of us need dry, hard places, likethe poppies "--pointing to a mass of brilliant bloom--"and some of usare always thorny, like the cactus, with only once in a while a rosystar.
"I've always thought my flowers had souls, dear," she went on; "theyseem like real people to me. I've seen the roses rubbing their cheekstogether as if they loved each other, and the forget-me-nots are littleblue-eyed children, half afraid of the rest.
"Over there, it always seems to me as if the lavender was a little womanin a green dress, with a lavender bonnet and a white kerchief. She's oneof those strong, sweet, wholesome people, who always rest you, and hersweetness lingers long after she goes away. I gather all the flowers,and every leaf, though the flowers are sweetest. I put the leaves awaywith my linen and the flowers among my laces. I have some beautifullace, deary."
"I know you have--I've often admired it."
"I'm going to show it to you some day," she said, with a little quiverin her voice, "and some other day, when I can't wear it any more, youshall have some of it for your own."
"Don't, Miss Ainslie," cried Ruth, the quick tears coming to her eyes,"I don't want any lace--I want you!"
"I know," she answered, but there was a far-away look in her eyes, andsomething in her voice that sounded like a farewell.
"Miss Thorne," called Joe from the gate, "here's a package for yer. Itcome on the train."
He waited until Ruth went to him and seemed disappointed when she turnedback into the garden. "Say," he shouted, "is Hepsey to home?"
Ruth was busy with the string and did not hear. "Oh, look!" sheexclaimed, "what roses!"
"They're beautiful, deary. I do not think I have ever seen such largeones. Do you know what they are?"
"American Beauties--they're from Mr. Winfield. He knows I love them."
Miss Ainslie started violently. "From whom, dear?" she asked, in astrange tone.
"Mr. Winfield--he's going to be on the same paper with me in the Fall.He's here for the Summer, on account of his eyes."
Miss Ainslie was bending over the lavender.
"It is a very common name, is it not?" she asked.
"Yes, quite common," answered Ruth, absently, taking the roses out ofthe box.
"You must bring him to see me some time, dear; I should like to knowhim."
"Thank you, Miss Ainslie, I will."
They stood at the gate together, and Ruth put a half blown rose into herhand. "I wouldn't give it to anybody but you," she said, half playfully,and then Miss Ainslie knew her secret. She put her hand on Ruth's armand looked down into her face, as if there was something she must say.
"I don't forget the light, Miss Ainslie."
"I know," she breathed, in answer. She looked long and searchingly intoRuth's eyes, then whispered brokenly, "God bless you, dear. Good bye!"