"You're right there," said my uncle, rising and moving towards the gas jet, for he was sleepy. "That's the truth all right—he's different enough from what we usually see. I think he's refreshing, if you ask me. But he had better go slow about expressing his views on these niggers—if he doesn't want to get into trouble. That's one thing sure."
"I wish he had told us a little more about his folks," said my Aunt Agnes, yawning, and winding up her watch. "Did you notice he didn't tell us anything about his father, except that he was a shepherd—that he is a shepherd," she revised, "for he's still living. I do wonder if he's engaged," she added, placing the screen in front of the fire as she spoke.
"Of course," said I; "certainly he's engaged."
"How could you know?" queried my mother instantly.
"Well, of course, I don't—but why shouldn't he be?"
No argument could avail against this very easily, and the matter stood as before.
"Oh!" my uncle suddenly exclaimed, his hand upon the chandelier, "I forgot to give him this letter—Mr. Furvell gave it to me for him at the church; it was sent on in care of Dr. Paine. But he can get it in the morning," as he deposited it on the mantel.
I promptly crossed the room and picked it up.
"You inquisitive old maid!" said my mother in mild reproach. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" as I stood examining the missive.
"I wanted to see what the old country stamp is like," I answered calmly, my eyes still on the envelope. Aunt Agnes was looking over my shoulder in an instant.