You said you were not a good writer but I wish you would let me know where you are and what you are doing, for I feel a deep interest in you, although I can not make myself believe that you are not the Harold Excell I saw in Rock River.

In reality you are not he, any more than I am the little prig who sang those songs to save your soul! However, I was not so bad as I seemed even then, for I wanted you to admire my voice.
"I hope this Christmas day finds you in a warm and sheltered place.

It would be a great comfort to me if I could know you were not cold and hungry.

Jack brought me a beautiful present--a set of George Eliot.

I ought not to have accepted it but he seemed so sure it would please me I had not the heart to refuse.