But she was really not used to making any decision as definite and
important as that of going out West alone. She had never been farther west
than Jersey City; and her conception of the West was a hazy one of vast
plains and rough mountains, squalid towns, cattle herds, and uncouth
ill-clad men.
So she carried the letter to her aunt, a rather slight woman with a kindly
face and shrewd eyes, and who appeared somewhat given to old-fashioned
garments.
"Aunt Mary, here's a letter from Glenn," said Carley. "It's more of a
stumper than usual. Please read it."
"Dear me! You look upset," replied the aunt, mildly, and, adjusting her
spectacles, she took the letter.
Carley waited impatiently for the perusal, conscious of inward forces
coming more and more to the aid of her impulse to go West. Her aunt paused
once to murmur how glad she was that Glenn had gotten well. Then she read
on to the close.
"Carley, that's a fine letter," she said, fervently. "Do you see through
it?"
"No, I don't," replied Carley. "That's why I asked you to read it."
"Do you still love Glenn as you used to before--"
"Why, Aunt Mary!" exclaimed Carley, in surprise.
"Excuse me, Carley, if I'm blunt.
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