“I guess I’m good for some walk,” she said, as she tucked her arm through his, and they climbed the hill slowly.
“I guess you are, Patty. You’re strong enough, only you’re not as hardy as Daisy and Adèle. I believe our Western girls are heartier than you New Yorkers. By the way, Patty, speaking of the West at large, what made you tell a naughty story this morning?”
“I didn’t!” and Patty looked at him with wide-open eyes. “I have a few faults, Jim, a very few, and very small ones! but truly, storytelling isn’t among them.”
“But you said you didn’t get a big blue letter,” pursued Jim.
“And neither I did,” protested Patty. “What do you mean, Jim, by that big blue letter? I didn’t see any.”
“Patty, it’s none of my business, but you seem to be in earnest in what you say, so I’ll tell you that there certainly was in the mail a big blue letter for you, addressed in Bill Farnsworth’s handwriting. I wasn’t curious, but I couldn’t help seeing it; and I know the dear old boy’s fist so well, that I was moved to tease you about it.”
“It didn’t tease me, Jim, for I didn’t get any such letter.”
“Well, then, where is it?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. Perhaps baby May kept it.”
“Perhaps some of the boys got it and kept it to tease you.”