"No, I don't know as I do," replied Katharine. "If it were all
funny or interesting, it would be well enough; but think of all
the letters that have sad or ugly things to tell. I do wish he
would bring us one, though."
"Perhaps he will. Yes, he's going to!" And Jessie sprang down the
steps to meet the man, who paused long enough to hand her a thick
envelope, and then went on out of sight, quite disregarded by the
girls who were all-absorbed in their mail.
"It's yours," said Jessie, as she deliberately mounted the steps
once more; "but I can't make out whose writing it is. Part of it
looks like Alan's, and part like Polly's. It's from some of them,
anyway. Do see if you can make it out." And she tossed the
envelope into her sister's lap.
No true woman ever opens a letter to find out from whom it comes.
Katharine carefully and minutely studied the one in her hand,
without attempting to resort to the most natural method of
obtaining an answer to the question. At length she raised her head
with a laugh.
"It's from them all," she said. "Polly wrote my name, Molly the
city, and Alan the state. This is one of that boy's pranks."
"Do hurry to open it," said Jessie impatiently.
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