She had a fair share of woman's love of romance and of letters, and she hurried a little in order that she might the sooner read the message of the dark-eyed, pale boy in the jail.
It was well she did not meet Mrs.Brown as she entered, for the limpid gray of her eyes was clouded with emotion.

She climbed the stairs to her room and quickly opened the note.

It began abruptly: "DEAR FRIEND: It is mighty good of you to come and sing to us poor cusses in jail.

I hope you'll come every Sunday.

I like you.