"MR. JOSEPH PENDLETON-"Respected Sir: Although your communication of recent date was a great
surprise to me, candour compels me to confess that it was not entirely
disagreeable. I have observed, though with true feminine delicacy, that
your affections were inclined to settle in my direction, and have not
repelled your advances.
"Still, I do not feel that as yet we are sufficiently acquainted to
render immediate matrimony either wise or desirable, and since the
suddenness of your proposal has in a measure taken my breath away, I
must beg that you will allow me a proper interval in which to consider
the matter, and, in the meantime, think of me simply as your dearest
friend.
"I may add, in conclusion, that your character and standing in the
community are entirely satisfactory to me. Thanking you for the honour
you have conferred upon me, believe me, Dear Sir, "Your sincere friend, "HEPSEY."
"My!" exclaimed Hepsey, with overmastering pride; "ain't that beautiful!
It's better than his'n, ain't it?"
"I wouldn't say that," Ruth replied, with proper modesty, "but I think
it will do."
"Yes'm. 'Twill so. Your writin' ain't nothin' like Joe's," she
continued, scanning it closely, "but it's real pretty." Then a bright
idea illuminated her countenance. "Miss Thorne, if you'll write it out
on the note paper with a pencil, I can go over it with the ink, and
afterward, when it's dry, I'll rub out the pencil. It'll be my writin'
then, but it'll look jest like yours."
"All right, Hepsey."
She found it difficult to follow the lines closely, but at length
achieved a respectable result. "I'll take good care of it," Hepsey said,
wrapping the precious missive in a newspaper, "and this afternoon, when
I get my work done up, I'll fix it. Joe'll be surprised, won't he?"
Late in the evening, when Hepsey came to Ruth, worn with the
unaccustomed labours of correspondence, and proudly displayed the
nondescript epistle, she was compelled to admit that unless Joe had
superhuman qualities he would indeed "be surprised."
The next afternoon Ruth went down to Miss Ainslie's. "You've been
neglecting me, dear," said that gentle soul, as she opened the door.
"I haven't meant to," returned Ruth, conscience-stricken, as she
remembered how long it had been since the gate of the old-fashioned
garden had swung on its hinges for her.
A quiet happiness had settled down upon Ruth and the old perturbed
spirit was gone, but Miss Ainslie was subtly different. "I feel as if
something was going to happen," she said.
"Something nice?"
"I--don't know." The sweet face was troubled and there were fine lines
about the mouth, such as Ruth had never seen there before.
"You're nervous, Miss Ainslie--it's my turn to scold now."
"I never scolded you, did I deary?"
"You couldn't scold anybody--you're too sweet. You're not unhappy, are
you, Miss Ainslie?"