've knowed since father died. You c'n believe me or not, jus' 's you
please, Mrs. Lathrop, but I cried over that letter; 'n' if some was
the dust in my nose, the rest was real affection, for, Lord knows,
when you 're scratchin' out mice 'n' cobwebs you ain't lookin' to find
a relation none. But anyhow, there she was, 'n' if she ain't died in
the mean time--f'r the letter was wrote over fifty years ago--I may
know suthin' o' family life yet. It was the beautifullest letter 't I
ever read. You c'd n't imagine nothin' more beautiful. I'm afraid 's
mebbe mother 'n' me misjudged father, owin' to the everlastin' up 'n'
down stairs, 'n' mother used to say right out 't it was a neck to neck
tie 's to which he stuck closest to, his bed or his money. But he
wasn't always like that, 'n' this letter proves it, for Heaven knows
what he must 'a' give Cousin Marion to 'a' ever brought her to write
him such words 's them. Not to deceive you, Mrs. Lathrop, the letter
was that grateful that I was more 'n a little bothered over it. It is
n't very likely 's you sh'd be able to understan' my feelin's to their
full, 'n' yet you c'n mebbe guess 's it ain't altogether a agreeable
thing to suddenly find out 't your own native flesh 'n' blood father's
got distant relations callin' down daily blessin's on him f'r his
overwhelmin' generosity. That's what she said in the letter, 'n' I
can't deny 's the words sent a cold chill runnin' down my backbone 's
I read 'em.

"The whole letter was writ in the same style, 'n' it didn't take long
f'r me to see right straight through it, 'n' hatch more 'n a suspicion
't the reason 't I never hear o' Cousin Marion afore was 'cause she
was head over heels in love with father. It was real touchin' too to
think how near her letter came to bein' one o' mother's, 'n' in the
end I jus' sneezed till I cried, for, to my shame be it said, Mrs.
Lathrop, 't the dust was 's thick in my garret this day 's it is in