My eyes fill as I think what it will be to sit beside you and
recall dear old New York. It will be the next best thing to being
run over by an automobile, won't it?
Yours, with fondest recollections,
HERBERT KENDRICK MITCHELL.
Aunt Mary laid the letter down.
"Lucinda," she said in a curiously veiled tone, "give me a handkerchief--a
big one. As big a one as I've got."
Lucinda did as requested.
"Now, go away," said Aunt Mary.
Lucinda went away. She went straight to Joshua.
"She's had a letter an' read it an' it's made her cry," she said.
"That's better'n if it made her mad," said Joshua, who was warming his
hands at the stove.
"I ain't sure that it won't make her mad later," said Lucinda. "Say, but
she is a Tartar since she came back. Seems some days's if I couldn't
live."
"You'll live," said Joshua, and, as his hands were now well-warmed, he
went out again.
After a while Aunt Mary's bell jangled violently and Lucinda had to hurry
back.
"Lucinda, did the doctor say anythin' to you about how long he thought I
might be sick?"
"Yes, he did."
"What did he say? I want to know jus' what he said. Speak up!"
"He said he didn't have no idea how long you'd be sick."
Aunt Mary threw a look at Lucinda that ought to have annihilated her.
"I want to see Jack," she said. "Bring my writin' desk. Right off. Quick."
She wrote to Jack, and he came up and spent the next Sunday with her,
cheering her mightily.
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