But he did not have to wait until noon. At six o'clock, through the dew-soaked grass of the yard, came the Higgins boy. For the first time in his short life he had been awake all night and he moved slowly.
The housekeeper opened the door. Ike held up an envelope, clutched in a grimy hand.
“It's for you, Mrs. Keziah,” he said. “Gracie, she sent it. There ain't no answer.”
Keziah took the letter. “How is she? And how's Nat?” she asked.
“They're doin' pretty well, so ma says. Ma's there now and they've sent for Hannah Poundberry. Gee!” he added, yawning, “I ain't slept a wink. Been on the jump, now I tell ye. Didn't none of them Come-Outers git in, not one. I sent 'em on the home tack abilin'. You ought to hear me give old Zeke Bassett Hail Columby! Gosh! I was just ahopin' HE'D come.”
Mrs. Coffin closed the door and tore open the envelope. Within was another addressed, in Grace's handwriting, to Mr. Ellery. The housekeeper entered the study, handed it to him and turned away.
The minister, who had been pacing the floor, seized the note eagerly. It was written in pencil and by a hand that had trembled much. Yet there was no indecision in the written words.
“Dear John,” wrote Grace. “I presume Aunt Keziah has told you of uncle's death and of my promise to Nat. It is true. I am going to marry him. I am sure this is right and for the best. Our friendship was a mistake and you must not see me again. Please don't try.
“GRACE VAN HORNE.”
Beneath was another paragraph.