I’m going to let her rest a spell. Though I’m so old I can’t help looking ahead some sometimes, to see where I’m coming out.
Didn’t you feel homesick any when you were coming away from school? I did,—“quite some,” as W. B. used to say. I went round to all the places, and paddled in the pond, and lay down on the grass to take one more drink out of the brook, and climbed up in the Elm, and ran up and down our stairs much as half a dozen times, without stopping, for I thought I never should again.
I whittled a great sliver off the base-ball field fence to fetch away; didn’t we use to have good times there? Bubby Short gave me his pocket-book, and I gave him mine. They had about equal, inside. I went to bid Gapper good-by, day before I came off, and gave Rosy my little penknife.
Then I went to bid the two Betseys good-by, and they wiped their eyes, and seemed about as if they’d been my grandmothers, and said I must come to eat supper with them that afternoon. So I went. Me all alone! Had a funny kind of a time. We sat at that round, three-legged stand, and I’ll tell you what we had. Bannock and butter, sausages, flapjacks, and scalloped cakes. All set on in saucers, for there wasn’t much room. They had about supper enough for forty. For they said they knew their appetites were nothing to judge a hungry boy by, and I must eat a good deal and not go by them, and kept handing things to me, and every once in a while they’d say, “Now don’t be scared of it, there’s more in the buttery?” George! Dorry, I wish you could have seen that punkin-pie they had! ’T was kept in a chair, a little ways off. I don’t see what ’t was baked in. The Other Betsey said that was just such a kind of a pie as her mother used to make. I out with my ruler, and asked if I might measure it. ’T was about two feet across, and about four inches thick. She said she thought ’t was a good time to make one, when they were going to have company. When I took my piece I had to hold my plate in my hand, for there wasn’t room on the stand. They wished you’d been there, and so did I, and so would you, if you’d seen that pie. They didn’t take down their best dishes, that we had that other time, but called me one of the family and used the poor ones. I had to look out about lifting up the spoon-holder, because the bottom had been off, once, and mind which sugar-bowl handle I took hold of, for one side it was glued on. But everything held. I can’t bear tea, but they said ’t was very warming and resting, and I’d better. I guess they put in about six spoonfuls of sugar! They wanted to know all about you, and said you were a smart fellow.
They wanted me to take some little thing out of the store, to remember them by. So I looked and looked to find something that didn’t cost very much, and at last I pitched upon a pocket-comb. The Other Betsey put on her glasses and scratched a B. on it, and said it could stand for the two of ’em. But I told her she better make two B.’s, for that would seem more like the Two Betseys, and she did. Lame Betsey said one B. ought to go lame, and the Other Betsey said she guessed they both would, for she had poor eyesight, and her hand shook, and nothing but a darning-needle to scratch with. If I do break the comb I shall keep the handle, for I think the Two Betseys are tip-top. I wish they could come and see my grandmother. Wouldn’t the three of ’em have a good time!
Send a feller a letter once in a while, can’t ye? Say, now, you Dorry, don’t get too knowing to write to a feller?
At this point the correspondence properly closes. As a faithful editor, I have endeavored to let it tell its own story, but must frankly acknowledge that at times, the pleasant memories recalled by these Letters have tempted me, too far, perhaps, beyond editorial bounds. This fault I freely confess, hoping to be as freely forgiven. Were it known how much I have left unsaid, while longing to say it, I should receive not only forgiveness but praise.
In closing, I cannot do better than to add to the collection an extract from a letter written to Mr. Carver by the Principal of the Crooked Pond School.