I wish, if there are negroes enough remaining in the quarters, that you would start immediately a seedling orchard of white Rare-ripe peaches from my orchard here. I have permission to send the pits to you by the military post-rider who passes my house. I will send you twenty every day as my peaches ripen. Please prepare for planting. I hope your rheumatism is better.
Yours very truly,
Evelyn Carryl.
The Messenger’s dark eyes lifted dreamily to the Colonel:
“You gave her permission to send the pits by your post-rider?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling; “but I always look over them myself. You know the wedding gown of the fairy princess was hidden in a grape seed.”
“You are quite sure about the pits?”
“Perfectly.”
“Oh! When does the next batch of twenty go?”
“In about an hour. Miss Carryl puts them in a bag and gives them to my messenger who brings them to me. Then I inspect every pit, tie up the bag, seal it, and give it to my messenger. When he takes the mail to the outposts he rides on for half a mile and leaves the sealed bag at Deal’s farm.”