Letty rubbed her left eye a little, as if to see whether she was sleepy or not, and looked grave; for me, the laugh came easily enough now.  Jo saw she had not quite succeeded, so she turned the current another way.

“Shall I tell your fortune now, Letty?  Are you quite waked up?” said she.

“No, thee needn’t, Cousin Jo; thee don’t tell very good ones, I think.”

“No, Letty, she shall not vex your head with nonsense.  I think your fate is patent; you will grow on a little longer like a pink china-aster, safe in the garden, and in due time marry some good Friend,—­Thomas Dugdale, very possibly,—­and live a tranquil life here in Slepington till you arrive at a preacher-bonnet, and speak in meeting, as dear Aunt Allis did before you.”

Letty turned pale with rage.  I did not think her blonde temperament held such passion.

“I won’t!  I won’t!  I never will!” she cried out.  “I hate Thomas Dugdale, Sarah!  Thee ought to know better about me! thee knows I cannot endure him, the old thing!”

This climax was too much for Jo.  With raised brows and a round mouth, she had been on the point of whistling ever since Letty began; it was an old, naughty trick of hers; but now she laughed outright.

“No sort of inspiration left, Sally!  I must patch up Letty’s fate myself.  Flatter not yourself that she is going to be a good girl and marry in meeting; not she!  If there’s a wild, scatter-brained, handsome, dissipated, godless youth in all Slepington, it is on him that testy little heart will fix,—­and think him not only a hero, but a prodigy of genius.  Friend Allis will break her heart over Letty; but I’d bet you a pack of gloves, that in three years you’ll see that juvenile Quakeress in a scarlet satin hat and feather, with a blue shawl, and green dress, on the arm of a fast young man with black hair, and a cigar in his mouth.”

“Why! where did thee ever see him, Josey?” exclaimed Letty, now rosy with quick blushes.

The question was irresistible.  Jo and I burst into a peal of laughter that woke Friend Allis from her nap, and, bringing her into the parlor, forced us to recover our gravity; and presently Jo and I took leave.

Letty was an orphan, and lived with her cousin, Friend Allis.  I, too, was alone; but I kept a tiny house in Slepington, part of which I rented, and Jo was visiting me.

As we walked home, along the quiet street overhung with willows and sycamores, I said to her, “Jo, how came you to know Letty’s secret?”

“My dear, I did not know it any more than you; but I drew the inference of her tastes from her character.  She is excitable,—­even passionate; but her formal training has allowed no scope for either trait, and suppression has but concentrated them.  She really pines for some excitement;—­what, then, could be more natural than that her fancy should light upon some person utterly diverse from what she is used to see?  That is simple enough.  I hit upon the black hair on the same principle, ‘like in difference.’  The cigar seemed wonderful to the half-frightened, all-amazed child; but who ever sees a fast young man without a cigar?”