tter of her promise. She knew the mother wished her to give it to him
herself. Well, then, should she write and summon him to his old home at
once, tell him of the letter and yet refuse to send it to him? How
strange that would seem! How could she explain it to him? His mother's
whim might be sacred to him--would be, of course--but he would think it
strange that a young woman should make so much of it as not to trust the
letter to the mail now that the circumstances made it impossible for him
to come on at once.

Neither would it do for her to keep the letter until such a time as he
should see fit to return to the East and look her up. It might be years.

The puzzling question kept whirling itself about in her mind for hours
until at last she formulated a plan which seemed to solve the problem.

The plan was this. She would coax Amelia Ellen to take a trip to
California with her, and on the way they would stop in Arizona and give
the letter into the hands of the young man. By that time no doubt his
injured ankle would be sufficiently strong to allow his return from the
journey to the Indian reservation. She would say that she was going West
and, as she had promised his mother she would put the letter into his
hands, she had taken this opportunity to stop off and keep her promise.
The trip would be a good thing for Amelia Ellen too, and take her mind
off her loneliness for the mistress who was gone.

Eagerly she broached the subject to Amelia Ellen the next morning, and
was met with a blank face of dismay.

"I couldn't noways you'd fix it, my dearie," she said sadly shaking her
head. "I'd like nuthin' better'n to see them big trees out in Californy
I've been hearin' 'bout all my life; an' summer an' winter with snow on
the mountains what some of the boarders 't the inn tells 'bout; but I
can't bring it 'bout. You see it's this way. Peter Burley 'n' I ben
promused fer nigh on to twelve year now, an' when he ast me I said no, I
couldn't leave Mis' Brownleigh long's she needed me; an' he sez will I
marry him the week after she dies, an' I sez I didn't like no sech
dismal way o' puttin' it; an' he sez well, then, will I marry him the
week after she don't need me no more; an' I sez yes, I will, an' now I
gotta keep my promus! I can't go back on my faithful word. I'd like
real well to see them big trees, but I gotta keep my promus! You see
he's waited long 'nough, an' he's ben real patient. Not always he cud
get to see me