Aunt Deborah plumed herself upon her shrewdness.  It was not easy to get the advantage of her in a bargain, and yet she had accepted the ring as security for a considerable loan without once questioning its genuineness.  She relied implicitly upon her nephew’s assurance of its genuineness, just as she had relied upon his assertion of relationship.  But the time was soon coming when she was to be undeceived.

One day, a neighbor stopped his horse in front of her house, and jumping out of his wagon, walked up to the door and knocked.

“Good-morning, Mr. Simpson,” said the old lady, answering the knock herself; “won’t you come in?”

“Thank you, Miss Deborah, I can’t stop this morning.  I was at the post-office just now, when I saw there was a letter for you, and thought I’d bring it along.”

“A letter for me!” said Aunt Deborah in some surprise, for her correspondence was very limited.  “Who’s it from?”

“It is post-marked New York,” said Mr. Simpson.

“I don’t know no one in New York,” said the old lady, fumbling in her pockets for her spectacles.

“Maybe it’s one of your old beaux,” said Mr. Simpson, humorously, a joke which brought a grim smile to the face of the old spinster.  “But I must be goin’.  If it’s an offer of marriage, don’t forget to invite me to the wedding.”

Aunt Deborah went into the house, and seating herself in her accustomed place, carefully opened the letter.  She turned over the page, and glanced at the signature.  To her astonishment it was signed,

  “Your affectionate nephew,
    “Ferdinand B. Kensington.”

“Ferdinand!” she exclaimed in surprise.  “Why, I thought he was in Californy by this time.  How could he write from New York?  I s’pose he’ll explain.  I hope he didn’t lose the money I lent him.”

The first sentence in the letter was destined to surprise Miss Deborah yet more.

“Dear aunt,” it commenced, “it is so many years since we have met, that I am afraid you have forgotten me.”

“So many years!” repeated Miss Deborah in bewilderment.  “What on earth can Ferdinand mean?  Why, it’s only five weeks yesterday since he was here.  He must be crazy.”

She resumed reading.

“I have often had it in mind to make you a little visit, but I have been so engrossed by business that I have been unable to get away.  I am a salesman for A. T. Stewart, whom you must have heard of, as he is the largest retail dealer in the city.  I have been three years in his employ, and have been promoted by degrees, till I now receive quite a good salary, until—­and that is the news I have to write you—­I have felt justifed in getting married.  My wedding is fixed for next week, Thursday.  I should be very glad if you could attend, though I suppose you would consider it a long journey.  But at any rate I can assure you that I should be delighted to see you present on the occasion, and so would Maria.  If you can’t come, write to me, at any rate, in memory of old times.  It is just possible that during our bridal tour—­we are to go to the White Mountains for a week—­we shall call on you.  Let me know if it will be convenient for you to receive us for a day.