“You will find my sister Sarah ready for any emergency. What do you think she’s been doing to get into the paper? She sent me the paper with the thing marked in it. I wish I had brought the paper; I’ll show it to you some time. You know she lives, when she’s at home, near a tunnel; well that tunnel caved in one day just after a passenger train had passed through; she knew there would be another train soon, and she had her red petticoat ready and ran out as it came thundering on, and swung it in the air until she stopped the train—and just within a few feet of the tunnel, too. Wasn’t that pluck?” “Where’s Judith?” called Joe’s voice. “I have a letter for her; one of the foreign letters she used to be so raving glad to get.” In the half light Judith sprang toward the letter. There was no light in the sitting-room; on the kitchen table a lamp was burning; she was glad to read it unquestioned. Snatching at its meaning she ran through the three thin sheets; then she read it deliberately, understandingly. He had written to tell her of his marriage, and two weeks afterward, on his wedding tour, found the unmailed letter in his pocket. That letter he had destroyed, and, after a week to plan and decide what to propose to her, had written again—was writing again now, in fact. The shortest way to her forgiveness he believed to be to ask her to come to England, not to be his housekeeper, but to be his wife’s dear little friend and cousin, as well as his own. But, if she decided not to do that, and the plan did have its disadvantages (he had not yet asked his wife’s advice or consent), would she be happy to stay on at the parsonage, or at Aunt Affy’s just as usual? He would never forget her, she would always be his dearest little cousin in the world, and he knew she and Florence would be the best of friends if they could know each other. Florence had a prejudice against America, but that would wear off. He very much regretted he had never written about Florence, but she was something of a flirt and had never allowed him to be sure of her until she knew he had taken passage for America. He hoped she would write to Florence and then they would understand each other better. She must be sure to write to _him_ by return mail. He hoped the delayed letter had not made her uncomfortable. He was always her devoted Cousin Don. Mrs. Evans went home, passing through the kitchen; Aunt Affy had told her of the unexpected marriage of Judith’s cousin; she was curious to catch a glimpse of the girl’s face over his letter. It would be something to tell Nettie. With her usual thoughtfulness Aunt Affy asked no question concerning the letter. That night Judith could not bring herself to show the letter; the next morning she gave it to her to read, and then asked if she might be spared to go to the parsonage.