Well, I hadn't taken three steps before I saw a letter poked under the door, and I knew it was all up between me and Undine. I hadn't been looking for it either; it just come to me in a flash. I burned up the letter, but sometime I'll tell you what was in it, though no other living soul shall ever hear it, but my heart kind of curled right up inside of me and ached like it was a tooth.
She didn't give me the mitten in a lady-like way. She wrote a mean, cruel letter, mother; the kind that helped me some, after the first blow. She's married to an Albany bank clerk, and they are living in something she calls a "suite," at a hotel where a lady never has to go into the kitchen. She even had the gall to get Bill Benson to show her all over the house, and by Jiminy, she didn't like the improvements any better than she did me! I wish I hadn't burned the letter now, for I kind o' think I could have laughed over it—in a couple o' years.
This is an awful long letter, but I'm giving up all day Sunday to it and probably shall never write another. I want you to know everything, and I guess I couldn't never tell it by word of mouth, I'd be so ashamed.
I ain't going to pretend I ain't downcasted, for I be! I'd fixed my mind on being snowed in with Undine all winter and setting in front of the new Franklin stove with our feet up on the fender and the electric lights turned on everywheres, for it don't cost no more to burn ten than one, as you pay by the year. I had sold all the cows but one, thinking Undine wouldn't want me to stay in the barn too much; parted with the hog, too, for Undine said they always smell. Perhaps the hog does, but the ham don't, and I'll buy another if you think best.
I think I'd ought to say that mebbe you won't take kindly to some of the improvements yourself, and I don't want to have 'em break on you sudden, which accounts for this letter. You'll like having water brought indoors, and a pump in the kitchen sink, for it will save you lots of steps. You'll be glad of the electrics, because you won't have to fill lamps and clean chimblies every morning. But the color of the house needs getting used to. I wanted it gay and bright for Undine, and by Jiminy, I got it!
You see, I bought the paint wholesale, and when one side of the house was done, folks could see it from Wareham, and I wanted to keep it a house and not turn it into a landmark, so I tried to tone it down. Well, mother, I bought thirty-seven dollars' worth of stuff to tone that paint down, and there warn't no tone-down to it, so as I'd spent so much on it, I figured it out that I'd better give up and let time fade it out. After all, women-folks live more inside of a house than outside, and you're always busy in the back part and don't hear the motors stop when they pass by, and the people in them make remarks.
I cut down one of the ellums by the gate just after you left. I don't know whether you'll miss it, but it blocked the view of the schoolhouse and I couldn't see Undine moving about or working at the blackboard. I wish I had it back, for I don't want no closer view of the teacher they've hired now than I can get from a good ways off.
I've put the dictionary away on the upper shelf of the china closet where father left it. I won't say I've given up all idea of marrying sometime or other, but the girl's got to have a Bible name next time. No more water-sprites for Matt Milliken!
Now, mother, without you like Vermont better'n you do Maine, and Lorenzo and Lulu better'n you do me, take the next train for home. When I get round to it, I shall know you're worth more'n a dozen Undines, though I won't deny I feel awful blue, and never expected to be turned down cold like I have been by Undine Berry, but I was misled by her looks, and that's the gospel truth. I ain't afraid you'll turn me down, mother, without Lorenzo and Lulu want you to winter with 'em awful bad, but I hope they won't, for the neighbors are bound to talk, and I need you more'n I like to write in a letter. It looks kind of foolish, set down in plain black and white.
You can have all the improvements I made, and welcome; and I guess the greatest improvement of the whole caboodle will be the improvement my mother will be on Undine Berry!
Your affec. sonMATTHEW MILLIKEN
THE END