“But who else is it from?” cried Martha, catching her excitement.
“Can’t you see? It’s from Will.”
“Will!” Martha gave a great cry, and clutched at the letter. “My baby Will!”
Caleb scratched his head. “Now which would be Will?”
“Will was the freckled, good-looking one,” said Jinny.
“Oh, Jinny,” said Martha. “They were all good-looking—took after Flynt. Dear heart, you can’t ha’ forgotten our tot after all that flurry. ’Tis only seven or eight years since he——”
“Ay, ay,” cried Caleb. “Him what mowed the cat’s whiskers.”
“No, dear heart, that was Ben.”
“To be sure. Ben’s the barber in New York—or some such place.”
“No, Caleb. That’s Isaac.”