“Bravo!  ‘Set a thief to catch a thief!’ I knew you would hit the nail on the head!  But who the d—­l is this fellow who is writing to her from New York?  This is the second letter I have taken out of the office, and there is no telling how often they come; for, on both occasions, when I troubled myself to ride to the post-office, I have found letters directed to her in this same handwriting.”

He drew a letter from his pocket and laid it on his knee, and as Estelle looked at it, and then glanced with a puzzled expression toward her aunt’s equally curious face, Mr. Murray passed his hand across his eyes, to hide their malicious twinkle.

“Give me the letter, St. Elmo; it is my duty to examine it; for as long as she is under my protection she has no right to carry on a clandestine correspondence with strangers.”

“Pardon me if I presume to dispute your prerogative to open her letters.  It is neither your business nor mine to dictate with whom she shall or shall not correspond, now that she is no longer a child.  Doubtless you remember that I warned you against her from the first day I ever set my eyes upon her, and predicted that you would repent in sackcloth and ashes your charitable credulity?  I swore then she would prove a thief; you vowed she was a saint!  But, nevertheless, I have no intention of turning spy at this late day, and assisting you in the eminently honorable work of waylaying letters from her distant swain.”

Very coolly he put the letter back in his pocket.

Mrs. Murray bit her lip, and held out her hand, saying peremptorily: 

“I insist upon having the letter.  Since you are so spasmodically and exceedingly scrupulous, I will carry it immediately to her and demand a perusal of the contents, St. Elmo, I am in no mood for jesting.”

He only shook his head, and laughed.

“The dictates of filial respect forbid that I should subject my mother’s curiosity to so severe an ordeal.  Moreover, were the letter once in your hands, your conscience would persuade you that it is your imperative duty to a ‘poor, inexperienced, motherless’ girl, to inspect it ere her eager fingers have seized it.  Beside, she is coming, and will save you the trouble of seeking her.  I heard her run up the steps a moment ago.”

Before Mrs. Murray could frame her indignation in suitable words, Edna entered, holding in one hand her straw hat, in the other basket, lined with grape leaves, and filled with remarkably large and fine strawberries.  Exercise had deepened the color in her fair, sweet face, which had never looked more lovely than now, as she approached her benefactress, holding up the fragrant, tempting fruit.

“Mrs. Murray, here is a present from Mr. Hammond, who desired me to tell you that these berries are the first he has gathered from the new bed, next to the row of lilacs.  It is the variety he ordered from New York last fall, and some roots of which he says he sent to you.  Are they not the most perfect specimens you ever saw?  We measured them at the parsonage and six filled a saucer.”