“Why, that cornfield yonder,” and with the words Frank walked off, before Kate and Harry had time to get up from the grass and join him.
“That’s just like him,” said Kate, bubbling with enthusiasm. She was always glad if Frank did or said the least thing to build up her sisterly pride in him. “It’s so kind of him to remember Grandma Dobson’s hungry hens. You’ll let her have the corn of course, Harry!”
“I don’t see how I can help it. If Frank chooses to give it to her, I’ll promise to gather it, harvest it in whatever place she chooses to have it, shell it, feed it out, and save enough for seed next year.”
And all this time that the children were talking, the bright July sun was beaming down on the broad green leaves of the corn; and that same sun saw another sight. If the sun had told Frank, Kate, and Harry what it saw, I do not know what would have happened—something interesting, I am quite sure; but as the sun told no tales that day, I will not—until the next chapter.
The letter that Mrs. Hallock sent to “Mr. Horace Blake, Solon, Maine,” should have been addressed to Mr. Horace Ludlow, since Uncle Horace was Aunt Louisa Blake’s husband, and of course had a name of his own. At the end of three months, Mrs. Hallock received her letter from the Dead Letter Office.
Dear me! if that letter had had the right name on it, poor Mrs. Dobson would have had to live all alone all winter, maybe—who knows?
“Crooked things do turn out just as straight as anything, sometimes,” Kate Hallock said, when the letter was returned to her mother.
Chapter VIII.
“Why, Mrs. Dobson, I can’t call you Grandma any more,” cried Kate Hallock on the day Frank’s corn was harvested home.