“Your dutiful grandson,
“DANDRIDGE MONTJOY.”
“P.S. I am using my full name now—it will look better if I am ever President. I wonder if Mr. Jefferson was ever called plain Tom.
“DAN.”
“N.B. Give my love to the little girls at Uplands.
“D.”
The Major read the letter aloud to his wife while she sat knitting by the fireside, with Mitty holding the ball of yarn on a footstool at her feet.
“What do you think of that, Molly?” he asked when he had finished, his voice quivering with excitement.
“Red pepper plasters!” returned the old lady, contemptuously. “As if I hadn't been making them for Cupid for the last twenty years. Red pepper plasters, indeed! Why, they're no better than mustard ones. I reckon I've made enough of them to know.”
“I don't mean that, Molly,” explained the Major, a little crestfallen. “I was speaking of the letter. That's a fine letter, now, isn't it?”