Miss Betsey could not be turned from her purpose, so her nephew was forced to content himself with begging her, if she sent money through the mails, to address it carefully.
"One would think, nephew, from the way you talk that I didn't know how to write," said the old lady, with some asperity.
Jack and Cynthia in the mean time were exploring the farm. It was a never-failing source of pleasure to them, accustomed to farm life though they were.
"This is a really true farm," said Cynthia; "not a make-believe, like ours, with a hired farmer to do it all. And Aunt Betsey's garden is a thousand times nicer than ours, and her hens are all so big and strong-looking."
"That's only because you've been looking so much at the 'little orphans.' By-the-way, I wonder how they're getting on. I do wish I hadn't had to leave home to-day. I wonder if Neal will attend to things? Queer kind of a duffer, isn't he, Cynth?"
"Yes: but I like him. He's awfully lazy and all that, but I think I'd trust him."
"Oh, I'd trust him far enough, except where hard work's concerned. In that line I think I'd rather trust myself. But I wish it was time to go home."
"So do I," said Cynthia, thoughtfully. "I have a feeling that something is going on there and we are missing it. Aunt Betsey's isn't as much fun as usual, though she was awfully good to forgive me so easily. And you have been frightening me about it all the way, Jack."
At last the day wore on, and amid cordial good-byes from Miss Betsey, her relatives took leave.
"I'll send you something for those little orphans at Christmas-time, Jackie," she called after them, "though this being only July, I hope to see you before then."