“Read it—­may we read it?” eagerly asked Carrie, delighted to see ’Lena doing such justice to her reputation.

“Yes, read it!” almost screamed ’Lena, and before any one could interpose a word, Carrie had broken the seal and commenced reading, announcing, first, that it came from “Joel Slocum!” It was as follows: 

“Dear Helleny, mebby you’ll wonder when you see a letter from me, but I’ll be hanged if I can help ‘ritin’, I am so confounded lonesome now you are gone, that I dun know nothing what to do with myself.  So I set on the great rock where the saxefax grows; and think, and think till it seems ’s ef my head would bust open.  Wall, how do you git along down amongst them heathenish Kentucks & niggers?  I s’pose there ain’t no great difference between ’em, is there?  When I git a little more larnin’, I b’lieve I’ll come down there to keep school.  O, I forgot to tell you that our old line back cow has got a calf—­the prettiest little critter—­Dad has gin her to me, and I call her Helleny, I do, I swow!  And when she capers round she makes me think of the way you danced ‘High putty Martin’ the time you stuck a sliver in your heel—­”

Up to this point ’Lena had stood immovable, amid the loud shouts of her companions, but the fire of a hundred volcanoes burned within and flashed from her eyes.  And now springing forward, she caught the letter from Carrie’s hand, and inflicting a long scratch upon her forehead, fled from the room.  Had not Durward Bellmont been present, Carrie would have flown after her cousin, to avenge the insult, and even now she was for a moment thrown off her guard, and starting forward, exclaimed, “the tigress!”

Drawing his fine cambric handkerchief from his pocket, Durward gently wiped the blood from her white brow, saying “Never mind.  It is not a deep scratch.”

“I wish ’twas deeper,” muttered John Jr.  “You’d no business to serve her so mean.”

An angry retort rose to Carrie’s lips, but, just in time to prevent its utterance, Durward also spoke, saying, “It was too bad to tease her so, but we were all more or less to blame, and I’m not sure but we ought to apologize.”

Carrie felt that she would die, almost, before she’d apologize to such as ’Lena, and still she thought it might be well enough to give Durward the impression that she was doing, her best to make amends for her fault.  Accordingly, the next time her cousin appeared in the parlor she was all smiles and affability, talking a great deal to ’Lena, who returned very short but civil answers, while her face wore a look which Durward construed into defiance and hatred of everybody and everything.

“Too passionate,” thought he, turning from her to Carrie, whose voice, modulated to its softest tones, rang out clear and musical, as she sported and laughed with her moody cousin, appearing the very essence of sweetness and amiability!

Pity he could not have known how bitterly ’Lena had wept over her hasty action—­not because he witnessed it, but because she knew it was wrong!  Pity he could not have read the tear-blotted note, which she laid on Carrie’s work-box, and in which was written, “I am sorry, Carrie, that I hurt you so.  I didn’t know what I was about, but I will try and not get so angry again.”