AUNT ALICE was going away for a visit of two or three weeks.
Her trunk was on the little front porch waiting for Farmer Dodds,
whenever, with his fat white horse and rattling spring wagon he should
make his appearance coming over the hill.
Rose seated herself on the trunk, and lightly tapping her heels against
the side, looked off in a dreamy way toward the dusty road that wound
down from among tree-covered hills, on its way past their own white
cottage with rose-vines climbing over the small square windows, and
so prettily set down in the midst of an old-fashioned garden, with a
broad, straight path leading from the gate to the porch, and at that
season bordered with asters of all colors.
Farmer Dodds was not in sight, and Rose, now turning toward the left,
followed with her eyes the line of the road, where, having left the
slope of hill behind, it struck out across the level. Stubble fields
down there were yellow, the green of the meadows was turning into a
soft pale brown, and far off the horizon was like a rising mist of
purple.
"Aunt Alice," said Rose, stopping the tapping of her heels, "some way
the sunshine down yonder looks almost as if you could take it in your
hands."
"Tangible light?" said Miss Alice, coming to the porch to look abroad.
"What's that?" asked Rose.
"Why, just the opposite of 'darkness that could be felt', I think."
"Is it?" said Rose gravely. "But, aunt Alice," she continued, "I wonder
what I'll do without you here to ask questions of. And how will I ever
get along without the Saturday afternoon talks--I've got so used to
them, you know. I'll just be awfully lonesome."
"We'll have to plan a way to help that," returned her aunt. "Let me
see--how would you like to write a letter to me on the first Saturday?
Only you must be careful to write what you would be most apt to talk
about if I were here."
"Oh! I'd like to do that," interrupted Rose.
"And then," continued Miss Alice, "I could have a little packet for you
at the post-office. Perhaps grandma would let you ride to town with Mr.
Dodds, when he goes for his mail, and you could have the pleasure of
getting the packet yourself."
"That's a splendid idea!" cried Rose. "But what will you put in the
packet?"
"I don't know yet," replied her aunt. "That will depend upon the letter
you write to me. It may be some trifling present, or perhaps a single
Bible verse, such as I often give you on Saturday evening. But of one
thing you may be sure, there will be something in it that will be a
true answer to your letter."
[Illustration: AUNT ALICE FAIRLY STARTED.]
While they were talking Mr. Dodds' wagon had come rattling up to the
gate. Immediately everything was in a bustle. Grandma came out to see
the trunk lifted into the wagon--aunt Alice found that she had left
her gloves upstairs and must go after them at the last minute--and
there came Priscilla Carter running up the road with a great bunch of
bitter-sweet, which Miss Alice was to take to a friend. Rose thought
it was delightful, and kept skipping up and down the path, wishing all
the time that she were aunt Alice, with a new trunk and going to have a
trip on the cars. But at last good-bys were said, the wagon rattled and
jingled off, and Mrs. Harrison, Rose and Priscilla were left standing
quietly by the white picket gate in the pleasant autumn sunshine.
When Saturday afternoon came around Rose asked her grandmother for pen
and ink. Then drawing a square writing-table out to the porch, where
it was shady, she began the task of writing a letter that would tell
all that had been going on since her aunt went away. Mrs. Harrison was
sitting by the window sewing, and for nearly an hour there was no sound
save the scratching of her little granddaughter's pen, or now and then
a question from her as to how a word should be spelled.
But by and by Rose threw down her pen and pushed her chair noisily
back, exclaiming as she did so:
"Well, grandma, I declare! I've got it done at last! Wouldn't you like
me to read it to you?"
"Of course, dearie, I should like it very much," answered Mrs.
Harrison, glancing up from her sewing.
So Rose sat down on the doorstep and began to read as follows: