Letter II

Dearest William, > > Susan sends a hundred kisses, and best loves to you and her brothers and sisters. She’s getting on nicely; and her mistress is as kind and fond of her as can be. Best respects, too, from my sister Martha, and her husband. And now I’ve done giving you all my messages, I’ll tell you some good news for the poor young gentleman who is so bad at Treen. > > As soon as I had seen Susan, and read your letter to her, I went to the place where the doctor’s letter directed me. Such a grand house, William! I was really afraid to knock at the door. So I plucked up courage, and gave a pull at the bell; and a very fat, big man, with his head all plastered over with powder, opened the door, almost before I had done ringing. “If you please, Sir,” says I, showing him the name on the doctor’s letter, “do any friends of this gentleman live here?” “To be sure they do,” says he; “his father and sister live here: but what do you want to know for?” “I want them to read this letter,” says I. “It’s to tell them that the young gentleman is very bad in health down in our country.” “You can’t see my master,” says he, “for he’s confined to his bed by illness: and Miss Clara is very poorly too⁠—you had better leave the letter with me.” Just as he said this, an elderly lady crossed the hall (I found out she was the housekeeper, afterwards), and asked what I wanted. When I told her, she looked quite startled. “Step this way, ma’am,” says she; “you will do Miss Clara more good than all the doctors