Susan never wrote letters. Each one of her pictured messages, however, ended with the words, "You ought to be with me." But they had ceased to arouse any longings in Betsey's heart.
The farmer's wife presently returned with a glass of milk, some fresh rolls she had just taken from the oven, and honey from the row of blue beehives that stood at the foot of the garden.
"Joe tells me that you said the bird belongs to Miss Miranda Reynolds," she said, seating herself ponderously at the other end of the bench while Elizabeth partook of the welcome refreshment, and scattered crumbs for Dick. "I suppose it must have belonged to Mr. Ted Reynolds before he went away. He was a great boy for pets always. I will never forget how he brought home a young alligator and let it get lost in the house so that the laundress finally found it at the bottom of her washtub of clothes."
"Oh, did you know them?" cried Elizabeth. "Did you know Miss Miranda's brother and her cousin and that big house on the hill?"
"I was housemaid there for seven years before I was married," responded the woman. "It was Miss Miranda herself arranged the flowers for my wedding and gave me my wedding clothes. A dear beautiful place it was, that house. I would never have come away from it except to marry Joe."
