“No, Ma. An’ that’s just it.”
“How?” The darning suddenly dropped into Mrs. Sampson’s lap.
“Maybe they were killed by the Injuns.”
“You’re guessin’.”
“Maybe I am. But——”
“What do you know, boy?” The old woman was all agog with excitement.
“Not a great deal, Ma,” Seth said, with one of his shadowy smiles. “But what I do makes me want to write a letter. And a long one. An’ that sort of thing ain’t easy with me. You see, I’m ‘ter’ble slow.’”
Seth’s manner was very gentle, but very decided, and Ma Sampson did not need much explanation. She quietly stood up and gathered her belongings together.
“You get right to it, boy. What you do is right for me. I’ll say no more. As my Rube says, ther’ ain’t nothin’ like livin’ honest. An’ so I says. But if that letter’s goin’ to lose you Rosebud, I’d take it friendly of Providence if it would kind o’ interfere some. I’ll go an’ sit with Rube, an’ you can write your letter.”
At last Seth turned to his letter in earnest. He first pulled out a piece of newspaper from his pocket and unfolded it. Then he laid it on the table, and carefully read the long paragraph 123 marked by four blue crosses. He wanted to make no mistake. As he had said himself, letter-writing wasn’t easy to him. He read thoughtfully and slowly.