“Is it all spoiled?” asked Jimmy anxiously. “Can’t you read it?”
VII
Barbara stared at the stained and defaced sheet with wide, frightened eyes. Her hands trembled.
“Can’t you read it, Barb’ra?” pleaded Jimmy anxiously, standing on tip-toe to peep at the letter. “Peg said he was ’fraid you couldn’t; but he said maybe you’d know who it was from, an’ if it was ’portant.”
Barbara did not answer. The rain-soaked paper in her trembling fingers faced her like a mute accusing ghost out of the past. The lines of writing folded close upon each other and soaked with rain and the stain of the wet brown earth had been completely obliterated; but two words of the many had escaped; her own name at the beginning of the letter, and another at its close.
“He is not dead!” she murmured. “He is not dead!”
Jimmy clutched her sleeve, dancing up and down in his impatience.
“Is it ’portant, Barb’ra—is it? Can you read it?” he persisted.