Do you think he will,
Max?"
"Perhaps; you remember how ill papa was when you were obstinate and
disobedient to him once before, and you gave up and did as he bade you,
and we all prayed for papa and he got well?"
"Yes, oh yes, I'll do it now, this minute; I can't go to Viamede to tell
Grandpa Dinsmore, but I'll write a little note, Max, and you can carry it
to him."
"I have a note-book in my pocket, pencil too," he said, pulling them out
in haste to get the thing done, lest her mood should change. "I'll tear
out a leaf and you can write on that. Grandpa Dinsmore won't mind what
kind of paper it is so the words are there."
He led the way to a rustic seat, tore out the leaf, spread it on the
cover of the book and handed that and the pencil to her.
"I needn't say much--need I, Max?" she asked, looking at him through
tear-dimmed eyes.
"No; just the few words you would say if he were here beside you."
"I can't write nicely, my hand trembles so, and I can hardly see," she
sobbed, taking out her handkerchief and wiping away the fast-falling
tears.
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