She was very gay all through the supper, although a close observer might have seen a cloud cross her bright face occasionally, and a look of pain and preoccupation in her eyes; but she laughed and chatted merrily, asking about the neighbors and the farm, and when supper was over helped Dorcas with her dishes and the evening work, sang snatches of the last opera, and told her sister about the new bell skirt just coming into fashion, and how she could cut over her old ones like it. When everything was done she seemed to nerve herself to some great effort, and, going to her father said:
“Now for the letter. From whom is it?”
“Gorham, the man who holds the mortgage,” Mr. Leighton replied.
“Oh-h, Gorham!” and Bertha’s voice was full of intense relief. “I thought perhaps it was —— but no matter, that will come later. Let us hear what Mr. Gorham has to say. He cannot foreclose till October, anyhow.”
“And not then, if we do what he proposes. This is it,” Mr. Leighton said, as he began to read the letter, which was as follows:
“Brooklyn, N. Y., May —, 18—.
“Mr. Leighton:
“Dear Sir,—A gentleman in New York wishes to purchase a farm in the country, where he can spend a part of the summer and autumn, fishing and fox-hunting and so on. From what he has heard of your place and the woods around it, he thinks it will suit him exactly, and in the course of a few weeks proposes to go out and see it. As he has ample means, he will undoubtedly pay you a good price, cash down, and that will relieve you of all trouble with the mortgage. I still think I must have my money in October, as I have promised it elsewhere.
“Very truly,
“John Gorham.”