Then he turned to the little girl, so like her mother, with her tangle
of red curls on the pillow. Picking her up in his arms, he carried her
to his room and put her in his own bed.
"Mother isn't putting up a bluff on us, is she, dearie?" he whispered
as he kissed the soft little cheek beside his own. "Mother loves us,
surely--it is pretty rough on us if she doesn't--and it's rougher
still on mother!"
The child stirred in her sleep, and her arms tightened around his neck.
"I love my mother--and my dear daddy," she murmured drowsily.
All night long Jim Dawson lay wide-eyed, staring into the darkness with
his little sleeping girl in his arms, not doubting his wife for a
moment, but wondering--all night long--wondering!
The next evening Jim did not go for his mail, but one of the neighbors
driving by volunteered to get it for him.
It was nearly midnight when the sound of wheels roused him from his
reverie. He opened the door, and in the square of light the horses
stopped.
"Hello, Jim--is that you?" called the neighbor; "I've got something for
you."
Jim came out bareheaded. He tried to thank the neighbor for his
kindness, but his throat was dry with suppressed excitement--Kate had
written!
The buggy was still in the shadow, and he could not see its occupant.
"I have a letter for you, Jim," said his friend, with a suspicious
twinkle in his voice, "a big one, registered and special delivery--a
right nice letter, I should say.
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