Thrums.

She did not hear her boy as he dragged a chair to the press and standing
on it got something down from the top shelf. She had forgotten him, and
she started when presently the pen was slipped into her hand and Tommy
said, "You can do it, mother, I wants yer to do it, mother, I won't not
greet, mother!"

When she saw what he wanted her to do she patted his face approvingly,
but without realizing the extent of his sacrifice. She knew that he had
some maggot in his head that made him regard Elspeth as a sore on the
family honor, but ascribing his views to jealousy she had never tried
seriously to change them. Her main reason for sending no news to Thrums
of late had been but the cost of the stamp, though she was also a little
conscience-stricken at the kind of letters she wrote, and the sight of
the materials lying ready for her proved sufficient to draw her to the
table.

"Is it to your grandmother you is writing the letter?" Tommy asked, for
her grandmother had brought Mrs. Sandys up and was her only surviving
relative. This was all Tommy knew of his mother's life in Thrums, though
she had told him much about other Thrums folk, and not till long
afterwards did he see that there must be something queer about herself,
which she was hiding from him.

This letter was not for her granny, however, and Tommy asked next, "Is
it to Aaron Latta?" which so startled her that she dropped the pen.

"Whaur heard you that name?" she said sharply. "I never spoke it to
you."

"I've heard you saying it when you was sleeping, mother."

"Did I say onything but the name? Quick, tell me."

"You said, 'Oh, Aaron Latta, oh, Aaron, little did we think, Aaron,' and
things like that. Are you angry with me, mother?"

"No," she said, relieved, but it was some time before the desire to
write came back to her. Then she told him "The letter is to a woman that
was gey cruel to me," adding, with a complacent pursing of her lips, the
curious remark, "That's the kind I like to write to best."

The pen went scrape, scrape, but Tommy did not weary, though he often
sighed, because his mother would never read aloud to him what she wrote.
The Thrums people never answered her letters, for the reason, she said,
that those she wrote to could not write, which seemed to simple Tommy to
be a sufficient explanation. So he had never heard the inside of a
letter talking, though a postman lived in the house, and even Shovel's
old girl got letters; on