“I have told you all about the excursion, my dear, and how we missed you.  You may remember” (ah, Anne, the guile there is in the best of us), “you may remember Mr. Stephen Brice, whom we used to speak of.  Pa and Ma take a great interest in him, and Pa had him invited on the excursion.  He is more serious than ever, since he has become a full-fledged lawyer.  But he has a dry humor which comes out when you know him well, of which I did not suspect him.  His mother is the dearest lady I have ever known, so quiet, so dignified, and so well bred.  They come in to supper very often.  And the other night Mr. Brice told Pa so many things about the people south of Market Street, the Germans, which he did not know; that Pa was astonished.  He told all about German history, and how they were persecuted at home, and why they came here.  Pa was surprised to hear that many of them were University men, and that they were already organizing to defend the Union.  I heard Pa say, ’That is what Mr. Blair meant when he assured me that we need not fear for the city.’

“Jinny dear, I ought not to have written you this, because you are for Secession, and in your heart you think Pa a traitor, because he comes from a slave state and has slaves of his own.  But I shall not tear it up.

“It is sad to think how rich Mrs. Brice lived in Boston, and what she has had to come to.  One servant and a little house, and no place to go to in the summer, when they used to have such a large one.  I often go in to sew with her, but she has never once mentioned her past to me.

“Your father has no doubt sent you the Democrat with the account of the Convention.  It is the fullest published, by far, and was so much admired that Pa asked the editor who wrote it.  Who do you think, but Stephen Brice!  So now Pa knows why Mr. Brice hesitated when Pa asked him to go up the river, and then consented.  This is not the end.  Yesterday, when I went in to see Mrs. Brice, a new black silk was on her bed, and as long as I live I shall never forget how sweet was her voice when she said, ’It is a surprise from my son, my dear.  I did not expect ever to have another.’  Jinny, I just know he bought it with the money he got for the article.  That was what he was writing on the boat when Clarence Colfax interrupted him.  Puss accused him of writing verses to you.”

At this point Miss Virginia Carvel stopped reading.  Whether she had read that part before, who shall say?  But she took Anne’s letter between her fingers and tore it into bits and flung the bits into the wind, so that they were tossed about and lost among the dead leaves under the great trees.  And when she reached her room, there was the hated Missouri Democrat lying, still open, on her table.  A little later a great black piece of it came tossing out of the chimney above, to the affright of little Miss Brown, teacher of Literature, who was walking in the grounds, and who ran to the principal’s room with the story that the chimney was afire.