in
that afternoon, they thought they'd step in and see her.

"Does any of you uns know," asked Aunt Matilda, "whar Ole Miles is now?
Dey tells me he don't carry de mails no more."

"No," said John William Webster, who was always quick to speak. "Dey
done stop dat ar. Dey got so many letters up dar at de mica mines, dat
dey send all the big ones to de pos'-office in a bag an' a buggy, and
dey send de little ones ober de telegraph."

"But whar's Ole Miles?" repeated Aunt Matilda.

"He's a-doin' jobs up aroun' de mines," said Uncle Braddock. "De las'
time I see him he was a-whitewashin' a fence."

"Well, I wants to see Ole Miles," said Aunt Matilda. "I wants him to
carry a letter fur me."

"I'll carry yer letter, Aunt Matilda," said Dick Ford; and Gregory
Montague, anxious to curry favor, as it was rapidly growing near to
ash-cake time, stated in a loud voice that he'd take it "fus thing in de
mornin'."

"I don' want none o' you uns," said Aunt Matilda. "Ole Miles is used to
carryin' letters, and I wants him to carry my letter. Ef you'd like ter
keep yerse'f out o' mischief, you Greg'ry, you kin go 'long and tell him
I wants him to carry a letter fur me."

"I'll do that," said Gregory, "fus' thing in de mornin'."

"Better go 'long now," said Aunt Matilda.

"Too late now, Aunt Matilda," said Gregory, anxiously. "Couldn't git dar
'fore dark, no how, and he'd be gone away, and I 'spect I couldn't fin'
him."

"Whar is yer letter?" asked Uncle Braddock.

"Oh, 'tain't writ yit," said Aunt Matilda. "I wants some o' you uns to
write it fur me. Kin any o' you youngsters write writin'?"

"Yes, ma'am," said John William Webster. "Greg'ry kin write fus-rate.
He's been ter school mor'n a month."

"You shet up!" cried Gregory, indignantly. "Ise been to school mor'n
dat. Ise been free or four weeks. And I know'd how to write some 'fore I
went. Mah'sr George teached me."

"You'd better git Miss Kate to write yer letter," said Aunt Judy. "She'd
spell it out a great sight better dan Gregory Montague, I reckons."

"No, I don't want Miss Kate to write dis hyar letter. She does enough,
let alone writin' letters fur me. Come 'long hyar, you Greg'ry. Reach up
dar on dat shelf and git dat piece o' paper behin' de 'lasses gourd."

Gregory obeyed promptly, and pulled out a half-sheet of note-paper from
behind the gourd. The paper had been there a good while, and was rather
yellow-looking. There was also a drop of molasses on on