CHAPTER IV.
WILL AND BROTHER TOM.
“A letter from brother Tom,—I am so glad. It’s an age since he wrote, and I’ve been dying to hear from home. Dear old Tom!” and dropping parasol in one place, gloves in another, and shawl in another, Rose Mather, who had just come in from shopping, seized the letter her husband handed her, and seating herself upon an ottoman near the window, began to read without observing that it was dated at Washington instead of Boston, as usual.
Gradually, however, there came a shadow over her face, and her husband saw the tears gathering slowly in her eyes, and dropping upon the letter she had been “dying to get.”
“What is it, Rose?” Mr. Mather asked, as a sob met his ear.
“Oh, Will,” and Rose cried outright, “I didn’t believe Tom would do that! I thought people
