"He told us she was 'real horrid.'" Sophia read on from the crumpled sheet with merciless distinctness.
"Come to think of it, when I was coming off I threw all my bills and letters and things down in a heap in the back kitchen at Harmon's; and there were some letters there that those 'cute little Rexford girls wrote to me.

They were real spoony on me, but I wasn't spoony on them one bit, Eliza, at least, not in my heart, which having been given to you, remained yours intact; but I sort of feel a qualm to think how their respected pa would jaw them if those _billets-doux_ were found and handed over.

You can get in at the kitchen window quite easy by slipping the bolt with a knife; so as I know you have a hankering after the Rexfords, I give you this chance to crib those letters if you like.

They are folded small because they had to be put in a nick in a tree, called by those amiable young ladies, a post-office." "I'm real sorry I made you cry, Eliza.

It's as well I didn't remain or I might have begun admiring of you again, which might have ended in breaking my vow to be--Only your ex-admirer, CYRIL, P.H----." "Oh!" cried Blue, her tears dried by the fire of injury, "we never talked to him except when he talked to us--never!" "There's a postscript," said Sophia, and then she read it.
"P.S.