It was as follows:
“Dear Maddy:
“I think you have such a pretty name, and so does Guy, and so does the doctor, too. I want to come see you, but mamma won’t let me. I think of you ever so much, and so does Guy, I guess, for he sends you lots of things. Guy is a nice brother, and is most as old as mamma. Ain’t that funny? You know my first ma is dead. She was Guy’s mother, and my papa was ever so old. The doctor tells us about you when he comes to Aikenside. I wish he’d come oftener, for I love him a bushel—don’t you?
“Yours, respectfully,
“Jessie Agnes Remington.
“P. S.—I am going to put this in just for fun, right among the buds, where you must look for it.”
This note Maddy read and re-read until she knew it by heart, especially the part relating to Guy. Hitherto she had not particularly liked her name, greatly preferring that it should have been Eliza Ann, or Sarah Jane; but the knowing that Guy Remington fancied it made a vast difference, and did much toward reconciling her. She did not even notice the clause, “and the doctor too.” His attentions and likings she took as a matter of course, so quietly and so constantly had they been given. The day was very long now which did not bring him to the cottage; but she missed him much as she would have missed her brother, if she had had one, though her pulse always quickened and her cheeks glowed when she heard him at the gate. The motive-power did not lie deeper than a great friendliness for one who had been instrumental in saving her life. They had talked over the matter of her examination more than once, the doctor blaming himself more than was necessary for his ignorance as to what was required of a teacher; but when she asked who was his proxy, he always answered evasively:
“A friend from Boston.”
And this he did to shield Guy, who he knew was enshrined in the little maiden’s heart as a paragon of all excellence.