Yesterday, after receiving your letter, I rode directly to Outpost,
and communicated your wishes to Seth and Mehitable. The former threw
the chip he was whittling into the fire, and said,--
"Miss Burroughs coming back? Waal, then, I'll stop; but I own,
doctor, I wouldn't ha' done it ef she hadn't. It's took all the
heart out o' the place, her bein' gone so."
And Mehitable and he joined in a chorus of praises and
reminiscences, which, pleasant though I found it, I will not put you
to the blush by repeating. Both, however, promised faithfully that
the house and farm should be ready for you by the middle of April;
and Seth says he can take hold "right smart" at helping put up the
new house, as he was "raised a carpenter," in part at least.
You ask about me, my dear cousin; but what have I to tell? I work
hard at my profession, and take nearly all the night-practice off
Dr. Gershom's hands; so I have very little leisure for any thing
besides: and you say to be useful is to be happy; so I suppose I am
happy; but, if I may be allowed the suggestion, it is rather a
negative kind of bliss, and will be decidedly augmented when Outpost
is once again open to me as a second home (I assure you I shall be a
frequent visitor), and when Burroughs comes to occupy an office
beside my own.
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