Part 29

“In this short time, dear Miss, brief though it is, yet it has proved amply sufficient for my heart to go out to you in a yearning love which I have never before felt for one of your sex. Day by day and night by night your glorious image has followed me.”

“That's a lie,” interrupted Hepsey, “he knows I never chased him nowheres, not even when he took that red-headed Smith girl to the Sunday-school picnic over to the Ridge, a year ago come August.”

“Those dark tresses have entwined my soul in their silken meshes, those deep eyes, that have borrowed their colour from Heaven's cerulean blue, and those soft white hands, that have never been roughened by uncongenial toil, have been ever present in my dreams.”

Ruth paused for a moment, overcome by her task, but Hepsey's face was radiant. “Hurry up, Miss Thorne,” she said, impatiently.

“In short, Dear Miss, I consider you the most surpassingly lovely of your kind, and it is with pride swelling in my manly bosom that I dare to ask so peerless a jewel for her heart and hand.

“My parentage, birth, and breeding are probably known to you, but should any points remain doubtful, I will be pleased to present references as to my character and standing in the community.

“I await with impatience, Madam, your favourable answer to my plea. Rest assured that if you should so honour me as to accept my proposal, I will endeavour to stand always between you and the hard, cruel world, as your faithful shield. I will also endeavour constantly to give you a happiness as great as that which will immediately flood my bing upon receipt of your blushing acceptance.

“I remain, Dear Miss, your devoted lover and humble servant,

“JOSEPH PENDLETON, ESQ.”

“My! My!” ejaculated Hepsey. “Ain't that fine writin'!”

“It certainly is,” responded Miss Thorne, keeping her face straight with difficulty.

“Would you mind readin' it again?”

She found the second recital much easier, since she was partially accustomed to the heavy punctuation marks and shaded flourishes. At first, she had connected Winfield with the effusion, but second thought placed the blame where it belonged--at the door of a “Complete Letter Writer.”

“Miss Thorne,” said Hepsey, hesitating.

“Yes?”

“Of course, I'd like my answer to be as good writin' as his'n.”

“Naturally.”

“Where d'you s'pose he got all that lovely grammar?”

“Grammar is a rare gift, Hepsey.”

“Yes'm, 't is so. Miss Thorne, do you guess you could write as good as that?”

“I'd be willing to try,” returned Ruth, with due humility.

Hepsey thought painfully for a few moments. “I'd know jest what I'd better say. Now, last night, I give Joe a hint, as you may say, but I wouldn't want him to think I'd jest been a-waitin' for him.”

“No, of course not.”

“Ain't it better to keep him in suspense, as you may say?”

“Far better, Hepsey; he'll think more of you.”

“Then I'll jest write that I'm willin' to think it over, and if you'll put it on a piece of paper fer me, I'll write it out with ink. I've got two sheets of paper jest like this, with nice blue lines onto it, that I've been a-savin' fer a letter, and Miss Hathaway, she's got ink.”

Ruth sat down to compose an answer which should cast a shadow over the “Complete Letter Writer.” Her pencil flew over the rough copy paper with lightning speed, while Hepsey stood by in amazement.

“Listen,” she said, at length, “how do you like this?”