Your loving daughter,
Isabelle.
Mrs. Benjamin finished them, then looked at the girl, whose face was turned away, and her smile was very tender. She spoke simply, without a touch of sentimentality.
“Dear, they are very sweet and loving letters. I am glad thee thinks Mr. Benjamin and I are like thy ‘regular parents.’”
Isabelle looked at her shyly.
“Suppose we make an agreement, Isabelle. Thee is to write a short letter to thy father every Sunday, and the rest of the letter hour can be devoted to thy ‘regular parents.’ This letter thee will post to me, and—since I have no ‘regular daughter’—every Sunday afternoon I will post a letter to thee. Is that a bargain?”
“Oh, yes!” cried the girl, flaming to meet this suggestion—this understanding. “Oh, dear Mrs. Benjamin,” she added, “you are so love-ful!”