"EGBERT AND EDYTHE"
When Tom Motherwell called at the Millford post office one day he got the surprise of his life.
The Englishman had asked him to get his mail, and, of course, there was the Northwest Farmer to get, and there might be catalogues; but the possibilities of a letter addressed to Mr. Thos. Motherwell did not occur to him.
But it was there!
A square gray envelope with his own name written on it. He had never before got a real letter. Once he had a machinery catalogue sent to him, with a typewritten letter inside beginning "Dear Sir," but his mother had told him that it was just money they were after, but what would she say if she saw this?
He did not trust himself to open it in the plain gaze of the people in the office. The girl behind the wicket noticed his excitement.
"Ye needn't glue yer eye on me," Tom thought indignantly. "I'll not open it here for you to watch me. They're awful pryin' in this office. What do you bet she hasn't opened it?" He moved aside as others pressed up to the wicket, feeling that every eye was upon him.
In a corner outside the door, Tom opened his letter, and laboriously made out its contents. It was written neatly with carefully shaded capitals:
Dear Tom: We are going to have a party to-morrow night, because George and Fred are going back to college next week. We want you to come and bring your Englishman. We all hope you will come.
Ever your friend,
NELLIE SLATER.