"I was right, Nan," he cried, coming up. "I told you I should be sure to find a reply, and here it is! There can be no mistake about this." And he laid on my knee a letter directed in a small but clear hand to the "Proprietress, Gay Bowers, Greentree, near Chelmsford."
"Oh, yes, this is one at last," I said eagerly. "No ordinary correspondent would address auntie in that way; but of course the advertisement does not give her name. The handwriting looks like a man's."
"Oh, I don't know," said Jack; "many girls affect that style of writing."
"This is not a girl's writing," I said. "I like it. It is strong and original, and betokens intellectual tastes."
"Nonsense, Nan," said Jack; "you surely don't believe in telling people's characters by their handwriting and all that rubbish."
"It is not rubbish," I replied calmly. "I have often judged unknown persons by their handwriting, and I have seldom found myself mistaken in my conclusions."
"It is all pure imagination," said Jack, who had seated himself beside me on the stile in order to examine the envelope at his ease. "I may not be a genius—I rather think I am not—but at any rate I can make better G's and B's than that fellow, if it is a fellow. Where are you off to in such a hurry, Nan?"
"Why, home, of course," I said, as I sprang down, "to take Aunt Patty this letter and hear what it says."
"Ah! I guessed curiosity was moving you," he said.
"You have none, of course," I retorted. "If you had, it might soon be gratified, for auntie told me to invite you to take tea with us."