“The landlady down there asked me to give you these here, thank you!” He handed out two letters, and then clucked to his horse in an embarrassed fashion as Miss Lyndesay thanked him.
“They came after you left, and she said you’d be wanting them, thank you!” And he drove on, leaving the source of his emotion quite unconscious of him or it, intent upon opening the first of the letters.
“They are too long to read as I walk,” she said, and chose a comfortable secluded spot to sit. “Let me think. It was a year ago in March that I saw Hannah first, there at Three Gables, when she had just come back from Germany, and was homesick and missed her mother so. She did Catherine as much good as Catherine did her. They are a pair of charming children, as different as April and October. I think I will save Hannah’s letter for the last. It’s sure to be exciting, and Catherine’s should be read in a calm spirit.” Accordingly she opened Catherine’s and glancing with a smile over the tabulated statement of the health of the various members of the family, regularly included since her complaint that no such information 103 was ever granted her, began to read the letter proper:
“Dearest Aunt Clara:
“Algernon is away at a district meeting. I believe that is what he calls it. He is quite elated over the opportunity and Polly and I are taking charge of the library while he is gone. I hardly see Algernon any more. He is so busy all the time, and he is simply sought after. People seem to think he is an infallible authority, now that he is librarian, and he does seem to know everything. He reads everything and has an intelligent way of telling what you want to know. I’m quite impressed by him, myself. Of course, he talks technicalities a lot, and he acts grieved sometimes because the rest of us don’t take the library quite so seriously as he does. The others are rather tired of it by now, except Polly and Bertha and Agnes. I really enjoy it, and I come in often nowadays, because I know when Hannah and Frieda get here, I won’t have so much time for it. The children are fond of Algernon and he remembers the funny things they say and tells them–(it’s the first time he ever had anything amusing to say on any subject!)–Peter Osgood wanted The Wail of the Sandal Swag, and a little girl asked for Timothy Squst. (If that’s how you spell it. It rhymed with ‘crust.’) The children aren’t the only funny 104 ones. A man came in this afternoon and asked for Edith Breed, and it proved he wanted He That Eateth Bread With Me, and one forlorn-looking creature handed me a slip of paper with Doan the Dark written on it, and she meant Joan of Arc!
“Later. I had to stop there to wait on a whole group. I don’t understand why they always come in hordes. They don’t seem to be connected at all, but there are always times when there is no one here and then suddenly an influx.
“Just now the room is empty again. I wish you could see it. It is a dear little room and now that it is being really used, doesn’t have that bare look it had at first. We fixed up a darling Children’s Corner, with some child pictures cut from a magazine and framed, and a little round table Polly used to have, and my own little rocker. The window is a sunny one, and the little curtains look so fresh and dainty. Almost always there is some child or other sitting there looking at pictures or reading.
“Later again. Dearest, dearest Aunt Clara! My eyes are all full of happy tears. I can’t write clearly. I came home from the library a little tired and quite willing to let Polly take it for the evening. And here on the porch was the box, the blessed box, addressed to me. Of course, I wasn’t too tired to open it! O, you dear darling! We have needed color in that bare little place so much, and here is this beautiful glowing picture just full of story 105 suggestions. There never was a child born who could look at that, and not go dreaming off into all sorts of fairy tales. It makes me so happy to think you care enough about our little library to give your own beautiful work. I wanted to go right down and hang it, but I called Polly up on the ’phone and she came over, and said I should keep it this evening to look at, and we’d hang it when Algernon comes back to-morrow. She is delighted, too, and Algernon will be, and he will send you a formal letter of thanks, but nobody can be so pleased as I am, because you are my almost-truly aunt, you know.
“I do hope you can feel the thanks I’m sending you across all that big salt water!”
Clara Lyndesay’s own eyes misted a little.