"I'm sorry. I'll mind what you say, because you've been so good to me.
It seems mighty queer--Toot Wambush's girl takin' care of the very man
he tried to wipe off of the face of creation. No wonder he--"

She twisted her hand from his clasp. "Why do you say _I'm his girl_?"

"Because they all do, I reckon; ain't you? Last night I heard him ask
you to follow him."

"You never heard me say I would, did you?"

"No, but--"

"Well, then!" She went to the fireplace. He could not see her, but
heard her stirring the fire with a poker, and wondered if her movement
was that of anger or agitation, For several minutes neither of them
spoke; then she came to him suddenly.

"I forgot," she said; "here's a newspaper and a letter. Will Washburn
left them for you." She gave them to him and went to the window and
raised the shade, flooding the room with the soft yellowing light from
the east. Then she resumed her seat at the fire.

He opened his letter. The handwriting was very crude, and he did not
remember having seen it before. Looking at the bottom of the last
page, he saw that it was signed by Sue Dawson--Sally Dawson's mother.
It was not dated, and began without heading of any kind. It ran thus: