Polly had gone home.
There was a whisper among the poppies that grew behind
the cookhouse that morning as the first gleam of the sun
came yellow and wan over the fields; there was a whisper
and a shivering among the poppies as the morning breezes,
cold and chill, rippled over them, and a shower of crystal
drops mingled with the crimson petals that fluttered to
the ground. It was not until Pearl came out and picked
a handful of them for her dingy little room that they
held up their heads once more and waved and nodded, red
and handsome.
CHAPTER XVII
"EGBERT AND EDYTHE"
When Tom Motherwell called at the Millford post office
one day he got the surprise of his life.
The Englishman had asked him to get his mail, and, of
course, there was the Northwest Farmer to get, and there
might be catalogues; but the possibilities of a letter
addressed to Mr. Thos. Motherwell did not occur to him.
But it was there!
A square gray envelope with his own name written on it.
He had never before got a real letter. Once he had a
machinery catalogue sent to him, with a typewritten letter
inside beginning "Dear Sir," but his mother had told him
that it was just money they were after, but what would
she say if she saw this?
He did not trust himself to open it in the plain gaze of
the people in the office. The girl behind the wicket
noticed his excitement.
"Ye needn't glue yer eye on me," Tom thought indignantly.
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