If I hadn't been blind as a bat I would
have guessed it long since, for all the time my feelings were
telling me mighty loud that you were the lovingest little kid
Bucky had ever come across.
"I'll not leave you to guess my secret the way you did me yours,
dear Curly, but right prompt I'll set down adore (with one D) and
say you hit the bull's-eye that time without expecting to. But if
I was saying it I would not use any French words sweetheart, but
plain American. And the word would be l-o-v-e, without any D's.
Now you have got the straight of it, my dear. I love you--love
you--love you, from the crown of that curly hear to the soles of
your little feet. What's more, you have got to love me, too,
since I am,
"Your future husband,
"BUCKY O CONNOR.
"P. S.--And now, Curly, you know my first-rate reasons for not
meaning to get shot up by any of these Mexican fellows."
So the letter ran, and it went to her heart directly as rain to
the thirsty roots of flowers. He loved her. Whatever happened,
she would always have that comfort. They might kill him, but they
could not take away that. The words of an old Scotch song that
Mrs.
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