Mrs. Beltrán looked troubled. "Dear Auntie," she said, "these are war times and one does not know what may happen. I am afraid I cannot face another separation from my son, and I think I can speak for Anita when I say that it would be as hard for her."
Aunt Manning started to speak but checked herself and was silent a moment before she agreed: "Well, I suppose I must give in. I wish I did not have to confess that you are right."
Timpkins, coming in the gate with a budget of Christmas mail, interrupted the conference. Aunt Manning, followed by Lillian, bustled out to get her share, and Mr. Kirkby went with them.
The arrival of the mail from the States was always an event, but at this Christmas season it meant more than the usual excitement. To Anita fell the largest share. An epistle couched in the restrained phrases of Mr. Weed was the first that she opened. He wished her the season's greetings, and so on. With a host of post-cards and Christmas cards from those old friends who had not forgotten her, came, last of all, a letter from Parthy. This Anita read aloud with running comments.
"Miss Nancy Respected miss," it began. "I takes my pen in hand," ("Dear old thing, she doesn't do anything of the kind, for she can't write her own name," remarked Anita), "to write you these few lines hoping you is well and is having a merry Crismuss. We all misses you an' wushes you was back agin. Me an Iry is tollable, thank de Lawd. Iry has a misry in his back an I has miralzy in ma haid but we hasn't nuther of us mist a meal the endurin time. We thanks you fo de Crismus gif yuh sends us by Mr wede. he jes as dry up as evr. Ef yuh aint cum back soon yuh aint fin him, he gitting so dry."
"Dear old Mammy, that is always her joke," sighed Anita. "Where was I? Oh, yes: Miss Nancy wen is you comin back. We are hear that you is met up wif mr wurt agin. honey chile I wushes you ud mary him and come back Iry say he a honin fo to see you sweet face. Please giv our bes respecks to Miss Bertry an wush her a merry crismuss. We is still at the ole hous but thos peple dat is buy it is take percesion in the spring, and Lawd knows whar we goes. Iry sens his respecks and I sens my luv an a merry crismuss. We knows you dosent fergit us.
from yore luvin ole mammy.
P. S. plese excus bad spellin an ritin."
"What a very curious letter," remarked Pepé, with a puzzled look, as Anita folded it up.
"It is a dear letter," responded Anita. "It takes me right back. I know exactly who wrote it for Mammy; it was that little yellow Cely, mother, the one who lives at the Lippitt's. She generally writes Parthy's letters for her, and I have come to know her style. You will find a number of things that will seem curious to you, Pepé, when we get home. I am glad that we are all going to be Americans. You will get back your citizenship in time, won't you, Terry?"