"But won't you want these with you?"
"As far from that as possible. Do you think you could make up your mind to let me tell Reuben a secret?—and give him a reason for being even more devoted to you than he is now?"
She coloured very brightly again. "I am willing—if you wish it. Why,
Endecott?"
"The chief reason is, that I do not wish to lose any of your letters, nor have you lose any of mine. And small postoffices are not so safe as large ones, nor are their managers proverbially silent. I should like to make Reuben a sort of intermediate office."
"And send your letters to him?"
"Yes. Would you mind that?"
"And my letters?"
"And yours in like manner, little Mignonette. He could either enclose them to me, or put them in some neighbouring office,—I think Reuben would enjoy an eight miles walk a day, taken for me. Or you could hide your envelope with another, and let him direct that. You need not be afraid of Reuben,"—Mr. Linden said smiling,—"you might give him forty letters without his once daring to look at you."
"But I thought—you said—he was going to college next summer?"
"That was talked of, but I think he will stay another year at home, and then enter a higher class. It will save expense, and he will be longer with his father. Reuben and I hope to be brother ministers, one day, Faith."