I want to tell you that I like your name. I think Stephen Scott sounds very manly and upstanding, somehow. I am hoping for a letter from you just to give me an inkling of your tastes. Of course I know one of the duties of a Fairy Godmother is not to worry her charge, and I don’t want to worry you but to help you. I think of you in those damp, nasty ditches eating all kinds of food, served in all kinds of ways. (I am sure what should be hot is cold, and what should be cold is hot.) And when I sit down to batter-bread and fried chicken I can hardly force it down, I do so want you to have it instead of me.
Your affectionate Godmother,
Polly Nelson.
The night nurse quietly folded up the first letter and slipped it back in its blue envelope. She had a whimsical, amused expression on her face.
“What are you smiling over? Don’t you think that is a nice letter?”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”
“But you didn’t say it was. I think that is a sweet letter. I tell you it meant a lot to me. Of course, I am not the homeless Tommy she thought I was. I fancy I have as many Aunt Sallies and Cousin Marias as she has, but they happen to be in New England.”
“You are not an orphan, then!”
“Oh, yes! I’m an orphan all right enough, but I am related to half of Massachusetts and all of Boston.”
“Did you tell your Fairy Godmother that?”
“No,—that’s what makes me feel so bad. I was afraid she would stop being my Godmother if she found out I was—well, not exactly poor, so I—I didn’t exactly lie——”