Simpson.
"I don't know no one in New York," said the old lady, fumbling in her
pockets for her spectacles.
"Maybe it's one of your old beaux," said Mr. Simpson, humorously, a
joke which brought a grim smile to the face of the old spinster.
"But I must be goin'. If it's an offer of marriage, don't forget to
invite me to the wedding."
Aunt Deborah went into the house, and seating herself in her
accustomed place, carefully opened the letter. She turned over the
page, and glanced at the signature. To her astonishment it was
signed,
"Your affectionate nephew,
"FERDINAND B. KENSINGTON."
"Ferdinand!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why, I thought he was in
Californy by this time. How could he write from New York? I s'pose
he'll explain. I hope he didn't lose the money I lent him."
The first sentence in the letter was destined to surprise Miss
Deborah yet more.
"Dear aunt," it commenced, "it is so many years since we have met,
that I am afraid you have forgotten me."
"So many years!" repeated Miss Deborah in bewilderment. "What on
earth can Ferdinand mean? Why, it's only five weeks yesterday since
he was here. He must be crazy."
She resumed reading.
"I have often had it in mind to make you a little visit, but I have
been so engrossed by business that I have been unable to get away. I
am a salesman for A. T. Stewart, whom you must have heard of, as he
is the largest retail dealer in the city.
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