“Yes, she does that. I think it’s right what they say; and she ain’t really no Basket Woman!”
“Not she! She’s a lady, if ever there was one, and that I’ve said all along.”
Before she could close her door a man presented himself.
“I want to send to my wife, ma’am,” he said. “I’m going to send her some money, and tell her to get ready to go with me to this new place; but it stands to sense as I don’t want all the neighbourhood, so to speak, to know my affairs; and if so be as you’re too busy to help me, I don’t rightly see what’s to be done.”
“What do you want me to do?” The manner of the speaker was patient and sweet as ever, and the tumult in her own heart was made to subside as she rendered the service which the man required.
“Well, I want a letter to go with the money, and I can’t write.”
“Oh, I see. Here is some paper. Now tell me what you wish to say, and I will write it. First, take a seat, and make yourself comfortable. Now, are you ready? Tell me how to begin, then.”
“My dear wife.”
“Yes.”
“I write these few lines to you, hoping to find you quite well, as it leaves me at present; thank God for it.”