* * * * *
The next three letters seem to have been sent at one time. Before they
reached Grandmother she had worked herself into a perfect fever of
anxiety.
Owing to the rabbit affair, of which they contain the whole story,
William Henry had not felt like writing, so that, even before his
letter was begun, they at the farm were already looking for it to
arrive. Then it took a longer time than he expected to finish up his
account of the matter; and when at last the letter was sealed and
directed, the boy who carried it to the post-office forgot his errand,
and it hung in an overcoat pocket several days. No wonder, then, the old
lady grew anxious.
I was at the farm at the time they were looking for the letters, and I
really tried very hard to be entertaining; but not the funniest story I
could tell about the funniest little rollypoly contraband in the
hospital could excite more than a passing smile.
Aunt Phebe gave me my charge before I went in.
“You must be lively,” said she. “Be lively! Turn her thoughts off of
Billy! That’s the way! Though I do feel worried,” she added. “’T is a
puzzle why we don’t have letters. I’m afraid something _is_ the matter,
or else it seems to me we should. He’s been very good about writing. If
anything has happened to Billy, I don’t know what we should do. ’T would
come pretty hard to Grandmother. And I do have my fears! But ’t won’t do
to let her know I worry about him. And you better be very lively! We all
have to be!”
I observed that Mr. Carver, although he talked very calmly with his
mother, and urged her to rest easy, was after all not so very much at
ease himself. He sat by the window apparently reading a newspaper. But
it was plain that he only wished Grandmother to think he was reading;
for he paid but little attention to the paper, and was constantly
looking across the garden to see when Uncle Jacob should get back from
the post-office; and the moment Towser barked he folded his paper and
went out. Grandmother put on her “out-door” spectacles, and stood at the
window. When Mr. Carver returned she glanced rapidly over him with an
earnest, beseeching look, which seemed to say that it was not possible
but that somewhere about him, in some pocket, or in his hat, or shut up
in his hand, there must be a letter.
“The mail was late,” Mr. Carver said; “Uncle Jacob couldn’t wait, and
had left the boy to fetch it.”
Grandmother was setting the table. In her travels to and from the
buttery she stopped often to glance up the road, and during meal-time
her eyes were constantly turning to the windows.
Presently Aunt Phebe came in.
“The boy didn’t bring any letters,” said she; “but I’ve been thinking it
over, and for my part I don’t think ’t is worth while to worry. No news
is good news. Bad news travels fast. A thousand things might happen to
keep a boy from writing. He might be out of paper, or out of stamps, or
out of anything to write about, or might have lessons to learn, or be
too full of play, or be kept after school, or might a good many things!”
“You don’t suppose,” said Grandmother, “that--you don’t think--it
couldn’t be possible, could it, that Billy’s been punished and feels
ashamed to tell of it?”
“Nonsense!” said Aunt Phebe. “Now don’t, Grandmother, I beg of you get
started off on that notion! Yesterday ’t was the measles. And day before
’t was being drowned, and now ’t is being punished!”
“’T wouldn’t be like William not to tell of it,” said Mr. Carver.
“Not a bit like him,” said Aunt Phebe.
“No,” said Grandmother, “I don’t think it would. But you know when
anybody gets to thinking, they are apt to think of everything.”
I told them there was a possibility of the letter being mis-sent. And
that idea reminded me of just such an anxious time we had once about
little Silas. His letter went to a town of the same name in Ohio, and
was a long time reaching us. I made haste to tell this to Grandmother,
and thought it comforted her a little.
When I left the next morning, Mr. Carver followed me out and asked me to
make inquiries in regard to the telegraphic communication with the
Crooked Pond School, and to be in readiness to telegraph; for, in case
no letter came that day, he should send me word to do so.
But no word arrived, as the next mail brought the following letters,
with their amusing illustrations.
* * * * *