He sat on the counter dangling his big bare feet against a nail-keg, and catching flies in his sunburned hands, while he waited for the mail to be opened.
The squire peered inquiringly at him over the square-bowed spectacles.
"Jake," he asked, "ever hear tell of a Miss Elizabeth Lloyd Lewis up this way ?" "Wy, sure!" drawled the boy.

"That's Betty.

The Appletons' Betty.

Don't you know?
She's that little orphan they're a-bringin' up.

I worked there a while this spring, a-plowin'." "Hump!" grunted the squire, slipping the letter into the pigeon-hole marked "A." "If that's who it is, I know all about her.