“The old subject, Mother Amy.”
“Surely, not my health. The Lord has been very good to me. I have promise of living yet awhile, to do His work; if so pleases Him.”
“No, not thy health. If no one troubled me more than thee does, sweet mother, I should find life all too comfortable. It is the children—the ‘pickles.’”
“Thee promised to leave care behind thee when we left The Snuggery, and thee has bravely tried to keep thy word, though it has been hard at times. What is new about them, now?”
“I have a letter from Rosetta which puzzles me. I don’t know if thee is well enough to hear it, but I should like advice.”
“Ruth, I am well; and thee shall have the advice for what it may be worth to thee.”
Ruth drew a yellow envelope from her pocket. The letter which it contained was much messed and rumpled, and the blotches of ink were visible even across the room; so that to look upon it was painful to Grandmother Kinsolving’s fastidious eyes. Evidently the writer had concocted the epistle with great labor and at broken intervals, and her unaccustomed fingers had found the task an almost impossible one.
The letter began,—
Dear Mam, that is Ruth:
I ain’t a writin’ this to the old laidy, becos I no that You don’t want her to be Trobbled about the House and what’s in it whilst she’s away. Well thar hain’t enny use of Worryin’ I don’t suppose; but I thort I’d better jest rite an’ tell ye, I mean thee, so as ye wouldn’t hev no call ter blame me fir what i couldn’t noways pervent. i done the best i could an’ that’s the livin’ truth an’ i didn’t no nothin’ about it afore she went. but shecum back all rite an’ fetched Him with her, an’ i don’t no no more what it means, an’ the dead an’ not so much as they sometimes sees into things we canst. i did think i wouldn’t say nothing about it, an’ then thinks i to myself thinks i if i Don’t tell em nothin’ an’ they cum home an’ finds it out, mebbe they’ll blame me an’ no wonder. an’ So i thort i’d rite a few lines to let yu no that i am well an’ hope these few lines finds yu an’ yours the same. He was shet up with him considable of a Spel, but they wan’t no more eggsploshuns ner chloroforms so fur forth as i no. So no more at present from yours in respect of humbly,