MY DEAR MIRIAM,--What is the matter with you? What have I done to offend you? You keep me waiting ten days for a letter, and then when it comes it's only four lines and it's cold and curt; and there isn't a word of love in it. If it means you are getting tired of me and want to break off, say so right out, and I'll drop everything and go up to Auburnvale on the first train and make love to you all over again and just insist on your marrying me. You needn't think I've changed. Distance don't make any difference to me. If anybody's changed it's you. I'm just the same. I love you as much as ever I did; more, too, I guess. Why, what would I have to look forward to in life if I didn't have you? Now, I simply can't stand the way you have been treating me. First off I thought you might be jealous, but I knew I couldn't give you any cause for that, so I saw that wasn't it. The only thing I can think of is that separation is a strain on you. I know it is on me, but I felt I just had to stand it. And if I could stand it when what I wanted was you, well, I guessed you could stand it when all you had to do without was me. Now, I tell you what I'll do, if you say so. I'll drop everything here and give up trying. What's the use of a fortune to me if I don't have you to share it with me? Of course, I'd like to be rich some day, but that's because I want you to have money and to hold your own with the best of them. Now, you just say the word and I'll quit. I'll throw up my job with Fassiter, Smith & Kiddle, though they are going to give me a raise at New Year's. Mr. Smith told me yesterday. I'll quit and I'll go back to Auburnvale for the rest of my life. I don't care if it is only a little country village--_you_ live in it, and that's enough for me. I'll clerk in the store, if I can get the job there, or I'll farm it, or I'll do anything you say. Only you must tell me plainly what it is you want. What I want most in the world is you! JACK. XIII NEW YORK, Jan. 1, 1895. DEAREST MIRIAM,--That was a sweet letter you wrote me Christmas--just the kind of letter I hope you will always write. And so you have decided that I'm to stay here and work hard and make a fortune and you will wait for me and you won't be cold to me again. That's the way I thought you would decide; and I guess it's the decision that's best for both of us. What sets me up, too, is your saying you may be able to come down here for a little visit. Come as soon as you can. If the friend you're going to stay with is really living up at One Hundredth Street, she's a long way off, but that won't prevent my getting up to see you as often as I can. I shall like to show you the town and take you to see the interesting places. It will amuse me to watch the way you take things here. You'll find out that Auburnvale is a pretty small place, after you've seen New York.