“’I shall never forget how sweet you looked the last time I saw you in that black dress with flowers in your hair.  I shall see you like that for ever, even when we are both old and gray.  You will always be young and fair to me, dearest teacher.  I am thinking of you all the time. . . in the morning and at the noontide and at the twilight.  I love you when you laugh and when you sigh . . . even when you look disdainful.  I never saw you look cross though Anthony Pye says you always look so but I don’t wonder you look cross at him for he deserves it.  I love you in every dress . . . you seem more adorable in each new dress than the last.

“’Dearest teacher, good night.  The sun has set and the stars are shining . . . stars that are as bright and beautiful as your eyes.  I kiss your hands and face, my sweet.  May God watch over you and protect you from all harm.

“"Your afecksionate pupil,

“‘Annetta Bell.’”

“This extraordinary letter puzzled me not a little.  I knew Annetta couldn’t have composed it any more than she could fly.  When I went to school the next day I took her for a walk down to the brook at recess and asked her to tell me the truth about the letter.  Annetta cried and ’fessed up freely.  She said she had never written a letter and she didn’t know how to, or what to say, but there was bundle of love letters in her mother’s top bureau drawer which had been written to her by an old ‘beau.’

“‘It wasn’t father,’ sobbed Annetta, ’it was someone who was studying for a minister, and so he could write lovely letters, but ma didn’t marry him after all.  She said she couldn’t make out what he was driving at half the time.  But I thought the letters were sweet and that I’d just copy things out of them here and there to write you.  I put “teacher” where he put “lady” and I put in something of my own when I could think of it and I changed some words.  I put “dress” in place of “mood.”  I didn’t know just what a “mood” was but I s’posed it was something to wear.  I didn’t s’pose you’d know the difference.  I don’t see how you found out it wasn’t all mine.  You must be awful clever, teacher.’

“I told Annetta it was very wrong to copy another person’s letter and pass it off as her own.  But I’m afraid that all Annetta repented of was being found out.

“‘And I do love you, teacher,’ she sobbed.  ’It was all true, even if the minister wrote it first.  I do love you with all my heart.’

“It’s very difficult to scold anybody properly under such circumstances.

“Here is Barbara Shaw’s letter.  I can’t reproduce the blots of the original.

“’Dear teacher,