"Here's somethin' for you to read," said the soft-voiced boy, handing her a folded paper, while Dave leaned against the building with an ugly scowl on his face.
"To read," asked Hope, turning it over in her hand. "Who wrote it, and where did you get it?" She stepped out of the doorway onto the green grass beside them.
"Read it," said the breed boy. "It's somethin' you ought to know."
"Something I ought to know? But who wrote it?" insisted the girl.
"A woman, I reckon," replied the boy. "You just read it, an' then you'll know all about it."
Hope laughed, and slowly opened the much soiled, creased missive. "Why didn't you tell me at once that it was for me?" she asked.
The writing was in a bold, feminine back-hand, and held her attention for a moment. The thought occurred to her that Clarice might have written from the ranch, but there was something unfamiliar about it. She looked first at the signature. "Your repentant Helene," it was signed. Helene,—who was Helene, she wondered; then turned the paper over. "My darling Boy," it started. In her surprise she said the words aloud.
"Why, that's not for me! Where did you boys get this letter? Now tell me!" She was very much provoked with them.
The soft-voiced twin smiled.
"I thought you'd like to know what was in it," he remarked, in evident earnestness.