“P. S.—You are not to suppose that Mr. Everard knows I am writing, for he does not; nor are you to think that he has spoken ill of you in his delirium. On the contrary, I imagine that he likes you very much indeed, and so I am led to hope that there is much good in you, and that you will not only release him, but quit gambling yourself.”
She sealed the letter, and directing it to “Mr. Joe Fleming, Esq., Holburton, Mass.,” posted it herself, and then anxiously waited the answer.
Three days later, and the clerk in the post-office at Holburton said, in reply to Josey’s inquiry for letters:
“There’s one here for Mr. Joe Fleming; that can’t be you.”
“Let me see it,” Josey said; and when she saw that it was from Rothsay, Ohio, she continued: “It is for me, and it is done for a joke. I will take it.”
Then, hurrying home, she broke the seal and read the curious letter, amid screams of convulsive laughter, which brought both her mother and Agnes to her side.
“Look here; just listen, will you?” she said, “somebody thinks I’m a man, and a gambler, and everything bad.” And she read the letter aloud, while the tears ran down her face, and she grew almost hysterical with her glee. “Did you ever know a richer joke? What a stupid thing that girl must be,” she said.
But Agnes made no reply, and went quietly back to her work, while Josephine read the letter a third time, feeling a little sorry for and a little anxious about Everard. Rossie’s postscript that he seemed to like her very much touched her and brought something like moisture to her eyes; but she never for a moment thought of giving up the debt. She must have the fifty dollars, for the brown silk was nearly finished, and the merchant expected his money, so she wrote to Rossie as follows:
“Holburton, August 7th, 18—.
“Miss Rosamond Hastings:—