It was
divided into many tight braids, each of which was wrapped with a bit
of shoe-string. From under the last one she took a small envelope and
handed it to Ruth.
"Dat's it," she said. "I was so skeered I'd lose it I didn't trust it
no place 'cept in my head."
Ruth unfolded the note and read:
"DEAR RACHEL: I mean biznis if you mean biznis send me fore
dollars to git a devorce.
"_George_."
Rachel sat on the floor, with her hair standing out wildly and anxiety
deepening on her face.
"I ain't got but three dollars," she said.
"I was gwine to buy my weddin' dress wif dat."
"But, Rachel," protested Ruth, in laughing remonstrance, "he has one
wife."
"Yes,'m. Pete Lawson ain't got no wife; but he ain't got but one arm,
neither. Whicht one would you take, Miss Rufe?"
"Pete," declared Ruth. "He's a good boy, what there is of him."
"Well, I guess I better notify him to-night," sighed Rachel; but she
held the love-letter on her knee and regretfully smoothed its crumpled
edges.
Ruth pushed back her chair from the table and crossed the wide hall to
the library.
It was a large room, with heavy wainscoting, above which simpered or
frowned a long row of her ancestors.
She stepped before the one nearest her and looked at it long and
earnestly.
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