as could be expected, considering the length of my absence? I've got
the little Bible book with Miss Amanda's blush rose pressed in it, and
I put my hand to my breast-pocket so often to be sure it is there and
some other things--letter things--that the heat and friction of them
and the hand combined have brought out a great patch of prickly heat
right over my heart in this sizzling weather. I know it needs fresh
cold cream to make it heal up, and I haven't even any talcum powder.
How's Louisa Helen and doth the widow consent still not at all? Tell
Crabtree I say just walk over and try force of arms and not to--That
force of arms is a good expression to use--literally in some cases.
Something is the matter with my arms. They don't feel strong like they
did when I helped Uncle Tucker mow the south pasture and turn the corn
chopper--they're weak and--and sorter useless--and empty. Tell Stonie
he could beat me bear-hugging any day now. Has Tobe discovered any new
adventure in aromatics lately, and can little Poteet sit up and take
notice? Help, help, I'm getting so homesick that I'm about to cry and
fall into the ink!

"Good night--with all that the expression can imply of moonlight
coming over the head of old Harpeth, pouring down its sides, rippling
out over the corn-fields and flooding over a tall rose girl thing who
stands in the doorway with her 'nesties' all asleep in the dark house
behind her--and if any man were lounging against the honeysuckle vine
getting a last puff out of his cigar I should know it, and a thousand
miles couldn't save him. I'm all waked up thinking about it, and I
could smash--Good night!

M.E.

P.S. I don't think it at all square of you not to let Stonie sell me