“Why don’t you open it? You are the one who should do it, I suppose.”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Where is it from?”
“India. From Mr. Morton Judd, his brother, the one who sent me here.”
“Oh, yes! I remember. Is Mr. Morton Judd alive?”
“No, he died ten years ago.”
“Well, please open it, for it may be interesting. Come over near the light.”
As they stood by the open window, leaning against the sill, he tore open the envelope and began reading aloud, she looking idly out upon some haymakers in a neighboring field. Their voices came faintly to her ears, and they made a pleasant picture in the afternoon sunlight with the village spires, the tall elms, and the purple hills for a background. She wondered if India was at all like New England.
DEAR Josiah: The case ought to reach you about a fortnight after this letter, and if you will write to Mr. Wharton, or better still, visit him, he will see that there is no trouble at the Custom House. Give my love to Sarah, but don’t show her the shawl and the silks before her birthday, in January. What you say about the boy Amos does not surprise me, and I was only waiting for you to make your own discoveries. He gave clear indications when a very small child of this same faculty in which his mother and the rest of his family had great faith. In the box you will receive I send a book giving an account of the Rajah Sirdar Sing, his ancestor, a hero of prophetic powers who died ninety-eight years ago, so this boy, according to tradition, should inherit the same supernatural faculties. Be careful that he does not see this book before coming of age, as it might put dangerous ideas into his head, and if he should suspect what he really is great mischief might ensue. I am glad he is turning out such a sensible boy. But if he should ever come over here and make himself known it would cause a great disturbance, and might result fatally to himself. Am sorry to hear about Phil Bates’s wife. She was a fool to marry him. Your affectionate brother,
Morton Judd.