In course of time the answers came. Hannah Jane's appeared first, and was opened with shaking fingers. _Dear Mother_ [read Mrs. Clayton aloud]: Your letter came two or three days ago, and I have hurried round to answer it, for you seemed to be so anxious to hear. I'm real sorry, but I don't see how we can get away this summer. Nathan is real busy at the store; and, some way, I can't seem to get up energy enough to even think of fixing up the children to take them so far. Thank you for the invitation, though, and we should enjoy the visit very much; but I guess we can't go just yet. Of course if anything serious should come up that made it necessary--why, that would be different: but I know you are sensible, and will understand how it is with us. Nathan is well, but business has been pretty brisk, and he is in the store early and late. As long as he's making money, he don't mind; but I tell him I think he might rest a little sometimes, and let some one else do the things he does. Tom is a big boy now, smart in his studies and with a good head for figures. Nellie loves her books, too; and, for a little girl of eleven, does pretty well, we think. I must close now. We all send love, and hope you are getting along all right. Was glad to hear father was gaining so fast. Your loving daughter HANNAH JANE The letter dropped from Mrs. Clayton's fingers and lay unheeded on the floor. The woman covered her face with her hands and rocked her body back and forth. "There, there, dearie," soothed the old man huskily; "mebbe Jehiel's will be diff'rent. I shouldn't wonder, now, if Jehiel would come. There, there! don't take on so, Harriet! don't! I jest know Jehiel'll come." A week later Mrs. Clayton found another letter in the rural delivery box. She clutched it nervously, peered at the writing with her dim old eyes, and hurried into the house for her glasses. Yes, it was from Jehiel. She drew a long breath. Her eager thumb was almost under the flap of the envelope when she hesitated, eyed the letter uncertainly, and thrust it into the pocket of her calico gown. All day it lay there, save at times--which, indeed, were of frequent occurrence--when she took it from its hiding-place, pressed it to her cheek, or gloried in every curve of the boldly written address. At night, after the lamp was lighted, she said to her husband in tones so low he could scarcely hear: "Thaddeus, I--I had a letter from Jehiel to-day." "You did--and never told me? Why, Harriet, what--" He paused helplessly. "I--I haven't read it, Thaddeus," she stammered. "I couldn't bear to, someway. I don't know why, but I couldn't. You read it!" She held out the letter with shaking hands. He took it, giving her a sharp glance from anxious eyes. As he began to read aloud she checked him. "No; ter yerself, Thaddeus--ter yerself! Then--tell me."