“Or throw it under the house?”
“Don’t you go worrying about what’s under the house,” said Alf. “You got enough to worry about with what’s in it.”
I did not like to hear him say that. By this time I had come to realize that what the natives thought about the house was probably more than true. I wished that they would stop talking about it and putting curses on it. I ate my boiled beef in chastened silence and wandered on home.
This seemed as good a time as any to unpack Jasper’s books and papers and get ready for his return, because I knew that he would begin on a new manuscript before he paused to cut the grass. I would have his things in order, at least. There was a high bookcase over a desk that looked as if it would be useful if I cleaned off some of the shelves. I stood on a chair and began taking down the old books.
From the first volume that I held in my hand fluttered a letter. I might have absently dropped it into the scrap-basket, but leaning down to get it, the address arrested my attention:
To the new missus.
That might be me.
I opened it, and, on a piece of ruled pad-paper, read:
I would a been here yet if it hadn’t a been for you.
It did not take any signature to make me know that this cryptic message was left by Mattie.