Well, then Johnny pulled a letter out of his pocket, one I had sent around to him the evening before, and handing it to me, said: "Read that."
The hand was a lady's, and had the unusual advantage of being both stylish and legible. The letter was dated at Colorado Springs; and ran as follows:
"My Dear Miss Lamb:
"A glance at my signature may serve as a partial excuse for the liberty I am taking in writing to you. If it were not forthe coincidence in our names, I should know better than to trouble you even with an expression of the very great pleasure which your novel has given me. For there must be literally thousands who have enjoyed that remarkable book, and it would be a poor return to you were we to besiege you with letters.
"Your name and mine, as you will observe, are identical, and my aunt, Mrs. Ellerton, who takes a special interest in genealogy, is convinced that you are a long-lost cousin. Aside from the natural pride we should have in sucha connection, my aunt's hobby—I warned her that I should use the word—is strong enough to give the keenest zest to such an inquiry as she