milk. There was one recurrent event that could
invariably awaken hostile symptoms in the dame. Whenever she saw a
letter arrive with the Bennington postmark upon it, she shook her fist
at that letter. "What's family pride?" she would say to herself. "Taylor
could be a Son of the Revolution if he'd a mind to. I wonder if she has
told her folks yet."

And when letters directed to Bennington would go out, Mrs. Taylor would
inspect every one as if its envelope ought to grow transparent beneath
her eyes, and yield up to her its great secret, if it had one. But in
truth these letters had no great secret to yield up, until one day--yes;
one day Mrs. Taylor would have burst, were bursting a thing that people
often did. Three letters were the cause of this emotion on Mrs. Taylor's
part; one addressed to Bennington, one to Dunbarton, and the third--here
was the great excitement--to Bennington, but not in the little
schoolmarm's delicate writing. A man's hand had traced those plain,
steady vowels and consonants.

"It's come!" exclaimed Mrs. Taylor, at this sight. "He has written to
her mother himself."

That is what the Virginian had done, and here is how it had come about.

The sick man's convalescence was achieved. The weeks had brought back to
him, not his whole strength yet--that could come only by many miles
of open air on the back of Monte; but he was strong enough now to GET
strength. When a patient reaches this stage, he is out of the woods.

He had gone for a little walk with his nurse. They had taken (under the
doctor's recommendation) several such little walks, beginning with a
five-minute one, and at last to-day accomplishing three miles.

"No, it has not been too far," said he. "I am afraid I could walk twice
as far."

"Afraid?"

"Yes. Because it means I can go to work again. This thing we have had
together is over."

For reply, she leaned against him.

"Look at you!" he said. "Only a little while ago you had to help me
stand on my laigs. And now--" For a while there was silence between
them. "I have never had a right down sickness before," he presently went
on. "Not to remember, that is. If any person had told me I could ENJOY
such a thing--" He said no more, for she reached up, and no more speech
was possible.

"How long has it been?" he next asked her.

She told him.

"Well, if it could be forever--no. Not forever with no more than this.
I reckon I'd be sick again! But if it could be forever with