The Story of a Summer | Page 8

pass some sad hours at Chappaqua this summer, but I do not
think we shall suffer from ennui--that is, if the startling events of the
past week are to be repeated often during the summer.
I have already spoken of the escaped convict whom we saw in the grass
the other day. It is unnecessary to say that we carefully barricaded our
doors that night; for, in case of danger, our situation would not be a
cheerful one--a household of seven helpless women, save during papa's
weekly visit, and Bernard, our only protector, asleep in the side-hill
house. Our precautions, however, were superfluous; the convict did not
favor us with a visit, but something far more thrilling than the loss of
the family silver was in store for us.
Dear Ida has received since last fall scores of letters from, I think, every
State in the Union, and even from Europe, from people of whom she
had never heard before, and upon all sorts of subjects. Some of her
correspondents are interested in her spiritual, others in her temporal,
welfare; some advise change of air as beneficial after her affliction, and

alternately she is offered a home in Colorado and Maine. But such
letters form the exception; usually the writer has a favor to request. The
most modest of the petitions are for Ida's autograph or photograph,
while others request loans of different sums from units to thousands.
She is occasionally informed that the writer has a baby named Ida
Greeley, and it is intimated that a present from the godmother would be
acceptable. Again she is asked to assist in building a church, or to
clothe and educate some poor girl--her own cast-off wardrobe of
colored clothes will be accepted, the writer graciously says, although
new dresses would be preferable.
One letter dated Lebanon is chiefly upon the virtues of a _lucky stone_,
which the writer will as a great favor sell to Miss Greeley for
twenty-five dollars. All further misfortune will, she says, be averted
from Ida if she becomes its owner; the stone is especially recommended
as beneficial in love-affairs, and, the writer kindly adds, it is not to be
taken internally.
Another letter is from the mother of a young invalid girl, begging Miss
Greeley, whom she knows by report to be very wealthy and charitably
inclined, to make her daughter a present of a melodeon, as music, she
thinks, might help to pass away the tedious hours of illness.
Sometimes Ida is solicited to open a correspondence for the
improvement of her unknown friend, or to dispose of some one's
literary wares, while offers of marriage from her unseen admirers are of
almost daily occurrence. I think I would not exaggerate in saying she
might reckon by the bushel these letters, written generally in very
questionable grammar, and worse chirography. In very few instances
has she ever replied to them, for they have been usually from people
possessing so little claim upon her, that the favors they so boldly
requested could only be viewed in the light of impertinence.
One letter, couched in somewhat enigmatical terms, was dated from
Baltimore, and was explicit upon one point only--that it was the
manifest will of Providence that Ida should marry him--S. M. Hudson.
We read the letter together, laughed a little over it, and threw it into the
waste basket. Time passed, and we came out here. Ida was greeted

upon her arrival by another letter from the mysterious Hudson, who,
not at all discomfited by the cool reception, of his proposal, addressed
her as his future wife, and announced that he had come on from
Baltimore to marry her, that he was now in New York, and would wait
there to hear from her.
"The man is certainly crazy!" exclaimed Marguerite.
"Indeed he is!" said mamma, reading his rambling sentences very
slowly: "I should judge him to be perfectly insane, and I only hope he
will not come out here to pay his fiancée a visit."
"You know he requests me to send him funds to defray his expenses,
Aunt Esther," said Ida quietly; "perhaps the lack of money will avert
such a calamity."
"What an unromantic conclusion to a love-letter!" said Gabrielle
scornfully.
The conversation turned to the depredations of the neighbors and
neighbors' children upon the property. "Mr. Greeley's place" had
always been looked upon in the light of public property, and intruders
walked and drove through the grounds quite as a matter of course, and
helped themselves freely to whatever they liked in the floral, fruit, or
vegetable line. The young ladies, however, decided that they had
submitted to such conduct quite long enough, and we sent to Sing Sing
for some printed handbills warning trespassers off the place.
Two or three days passed, and