Jim and Hattie like real well where they are. They’ve got a real pretty home, and they’re the biggest folks in town, so Hattie doesn’t have to worry for fear she won’t live quite so fine as her neighbors—though really I think Hattie’s got over that now a good deal. That awful thing of Fred’s sobered her a lot, and taught her who her real friends were, and that money ain’t everything.
Fred is doing splendidly now, just as steady as a clock. It does my soul good to see him and his father together. They are just like chums. And Bessie—she isn’t near so disagreeable and airy as she was. Hattie took her out of that school and put her into another where she’s getting some real learning and less society and frills and dancing. Jim is doing well, and I think Hattie’s real happy. Oh, of course, when we first heard that Mr. Fulton had got back, I think she was kind of disappointed. You know she always did insist we were going to have the rest of that money if he didn’t show up. But she told me just Thanksgiving Day that she didn’t know but ’twas just as well, after all, that they didn’t have the money, for maybe Fred’d go wrong again, or it would strike Benny this time. Anyhow, however much money she had, she said, she’d never let her children spend so much again, and she’d found out money didn’t bring happiness, always, anyway.
Mellicent and Donald are going to be married next summer. Donald don’t get a very big salary yet, but Mellicent says she won’t mind a bit going back to economizing again, now that for once she’s had all the chocolates and pink dresses she wanted. What a funny girl she is—but she’s a dear girl, just the same, and she’s settled down real sensible now. She and Donald are as happy as can be, and even Jane likes Donald real well now.
Jane’s gone back to her tidies and aprons and skimping on everything. She says she’s got to, to make up that forty thousand dollars. But she enjoys it, I believe. Honestly, she acts ’most as happy trying to save five cents as Frank does earning it in his old place behind the counter. And that’s saying a whole lot, as you know. Jane knows very well she doesn’t have to pinch that way. They’ve got lots of the money left, and Frank’s business is better than ever. But she just likes to.
You complain because I don’t tell you anything about myself in my letters, but there isn’t anything to tell. I am well and happy, and I’ve just thought up the nicest thing to do. Mary Hicks came home from Boston sick last September, and she’s been here at my house ever since. Her own home ain’t no place for a sick person, you know, with all those children, and they’re awfully poor, too. So I took her here with me. She’s a real nice girl. She works in a department store and was all played out, but she’s picked up wonderfully here and is going back next week.
Well, she was telling me about a girl that works with her at the same counter, and saying how she wished she had a place like this to go to for a rest and change, so I’m going to do it—give them one, I mean, she and the other girls. Mary says there are a dozen girls that she knows right there that are half-sick, but would get well in a minute if they only had a few weeks of rest and quiet and good food. So I’m going to take them, two at a time, so they’ll be company for each other. Mary is going to fix it up for me down there, and pick out the girls, and she says she knows the man who owns the store will be glad to let them off, for they are all good help, and he’s been afraid he’d lose them. He’d offered them a month off, besides their vacation, but they couldn’t take it, because they didn’t have any place to go or money to pay. Of course, that part will be all right now. And I’m so glad and excited I don’t know what to do. Oh, I do hope you’ll tell Mr. Fulton some time how happy he’s made me, and how perfectly splendid that money’s been for me.
Well, Maggie, this is a long letter, and I must close. Tell me all about the new clothes you are getting, and I hope you will get a lot.
Lovingly yours,
Flora.
P.S. Does Mr. Fulton look like his pictures? You know I’ve got one. F.
P.S. again. Maggie Duff, for pity’s sake, never, never tell that man that I ever went into mourning for him and put flowers before his picture. I’d be mortified to death!