MY DEAR BOY: Your letter duly rec'd. I am glad you have found companionship, though I am sorry for him that it should be an accident that literally "threw" him in your way. You did not tell me his name, or anything but the bare fact of his accident. Be sure that you will find in me an interested listener--or rather _reader_--of anything you may choose to tell me. But don't leave accounts of _yourself_ out of your letters in order to make room for _him_. Remember, you are my only relation, the only person in the world in whom I have a right to be interested. It does not seem possible to me, when I think of it, that there is only five years' difference in our ages: why, I'm sure I feel ten years older, instead of five. I was very young at fifteen to take charge of a great boy of ten; and if it were not that you were the good boy you always were, I never could have fulfilled the charge your dying mother left me. Do not think, dear, I was not _glad_ to do it for her. Could I ever, _ever_, if I worked five times as hard as I have since she left you, repay all that she did for me, the poor miserable, shy orphan left to her care? But out upon these memories! Let us deal with the present and future. _Item._ Mary Montrose's engagement to Joel Roberts is "out" to-day. I'm glad, for I'm tired of keeping the secret. Poor dear Mary! I do _hope_ she will be happy. She inquires very cordially after you every time she sees me. She doesn't know she blasted one of my most precious hopes when she told me she was engaged to Joel. Good-bye, dear! Be sure and write long letters to your affectionate cousin, BESSIE L----. BROOKSIDE, April 30, 1872. DEAR BESS: Please excuse my not answering your last two letters, on the plea of business. Indeed, working and waiting on my friend, George Hammond, have occupied all my time. Now, Bessie, I want you to do something for me. Yesterday, when I got your letter, I read it aloud as usual, George looking very sad the while. When I was done he said in a trembling tone, "I wish to heaven there was some one in the world nearly enough related to me to care to write to me! But I am alone, entirely alone;" and his eyes filled. (Forgive his weakness, Bess: he has been very sick.) I tried to cheer him, but all to no purpose till an idea struck him. His face brightening, he said, "Do you believe, Philip--I know it is a great deal to ask--but do you believe you could persuade your cousin to write to _me_? I should prize it _so_ much. Do you think she _would_? Just fancy what it is never to receive a letter from any one except a business-man!" Now, Bessie, _won't_ you write him once in a while? There is not a particle of harm in it, and I assure you it will be a real boon to the poor fellow. Just imagine him lying here on his back day after day, and not a thing to amuse him but my company!