"
"Well," ejaculated Jack, internally, "if that doesn't beat all for
coolness."
"My name is Jack," he said, aloud.
"Indeed! I thought it might be a nickname."
"You can't guess what I came here for," said Jack, with an attempt
at sarcasm, which utterly failed of its effect.
"To see your sister Ida, I presume," said Peg, coolly.
"Yes," said Jack, amazed at the woman's composure.
"I thought some of you would be coming on," said Peg, whose prolific
genius had already mapped out her course.
"You did?"
"Yes, it was only natural. But what did your father and mother say
to the letter I wrote them?"
"The letter you wrote them!"
"The letter in which I wrote that Ida's mother had been so pleased
with the appearance and manners of her child, that she could not
resolve to part with her, and had determined to keep her for the
present."
"You don't mean to say," said Jack, "that any such letter as that
has been written?"
"What, has it not been received?" inquired Peg, in the greatest
apparent astonishment.
"Nothing like it," answered Jack. "When was it written?"
"The second day after Ida's arrival," replied Peg, unhesitatingly.
"If that is the case," returned Jack, not knowing what to think, "it
must have miscarried."
"That is a pity. How anxious you all must have felt!" remarked Peg,
sympathizingly.
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