The night was dark and stormy, and fancying he had dismissed his last customer he had settled himself before the glowing stove with nearly half a peck of nuts at his side, when the door opened, and a little boy came in, his light hair covered with snow, which had also settled upon other portions of his person.
“Good evenin’, Sandy,” was Ben’s salutation.
“What brung you here to-night?”
“Got you a letter,” returned Sandy, who was the chore boy of the Post Master. “It’s been a good while coming, too, for all it says ‘in haste,’” and passing the note to Ben, he caught up five or six of the kittens, while Ben, tearing open the envelope and snuffing a tallow candle with his fingers read:
“Dear Ben,
“Frederic knows it all, and we are so happy. We are to have a great party on the 20th and you must surely come. Don’t fail us, that’s a dear, good Ben, but come as soon as you get this. Then I will tell you what I can’t write now, for Frederic keeps worrying me with teasing me to kiss him.
Yours truly,
“Marian.
“P. S.—Alice sends her love, so does Frederic, and so do I, dear Ben.”
“I ‘most wish she’d left off that last, and that about his kissin’ her,” said Ben, when, after the boy Sandy departed he was alone. “It makes me feel so streaked like. Guy, wouldn’t I give all my groceries, and the six cats into the bargain, to be in Fred Raymond’s boots;” and, taking up the kitten he called “Marian Grey,” he fondled it tenderly, for the sake of her whose name it bore. “I shall go to this party,” he continued, as his mind reverted again to the letter, “though I’ll be as much out of place as a toad in a sugar bowl; but, I can see Marian, and that little blind girl, and Josh. Wa’n’t he a case, though?” And leaning back in his chair, Ben mentally made the necessary arrangements for leaving.